


Only Ever Yours

by Caedmon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (and oh god there's so much smut), Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Eventual Smut, Love at First Sight, M/M, Master/Servant, Nobility, Oral Sex, Regency Romance, Rimming, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29134692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: Aziraphale Fell, Ninth Duke of Tadfield, is quite happy with his life. He has his books, his friends, and no need for more. His sister, Michael, disagrees. She feels most strongly that Aziraphale should have a wife, and has determined to see him married with an heir on the way by the end of the Season. So she installs her husband's valet, Crowley, to spy on him and help her find him a wife.Nobody is expecting the Duke and the valet to fall in love...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1014
Kudos: 421
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to my new multichap! 
> 
> This is a kinda/sorta prequel to my oneshot called 'The Husband of My Heart'. If you've read that one, please know that the ending will be much different. Still stupidly happy and the best possible outcome for all involved, but much different. Like all of my multichaps, this one will update faithfully on Mondays and Thursdays. In six years, I've missed one scheduled posting day and it was for a hurricane. If I have internet, you'll get your chapter. 
> 
> I want to make clear from the get-go that although this fic deals with master/servant dynamics and power imbalances, _absolutely NO ONE has any kind of sexual contact with anyone they do not want to. Absolutely NO ONE._
> 
> I owe a huge debt to my friends in the Ineffable Sleepover server and the Good Omens Fic Writers Workshop server for helping me brainstorm this story from time to time. Extra special thanks to NaroMoreau for helping me brainstorm literally every day. 
> 
> If you're looking for a story without anachronisms, I'm afraid this isn't the story for you. A couple were intentional (like their use of the word 'gay'), but most of the mistakes I'm sure I've made are completely unintentional. I hope you'll enjoy anyway. 
> 
> I am starting chapter 17 today, and anticipate it'll finish at around 22-23 chapters. ~~But I'm terrible with estimations so take that with a boulder of salt~~.
> 
> The beautiful cover art is by the incomparable Rose__ Nebula. I love you, wifey! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love! But more than anything, I hope you enjoy!

_1815_

Crowley was standing in the drawing room of his employer’s townhouse, waiting for the lady of the house, feeling incredibly nervous. No one ever got called into the drawing room for any good reason, and most servants who went in came out having been dismissed from service. Crowley racked his brain trying to think of what he could have done to displease his employer, but he couldn’t think of anything. He was a good valet, he thought. He’d been under the impression that the Earl, his master for the last six months, had liked him well enough. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure. His mind raced, trying to think of what he’d do if he were dismissed. He had a decent nest egg saved up, a few months’ pay, but it wasn’t enough to live on long-term. He’d have to find new employment soon, if he even _could_ find new employment after being dismissed. More likely, he’d be shunned from being a servant to polite society. Oh, God, what would he do?

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened and the lady of the house, Countess Michael Engel, breezed in. Crowley straightened his back at once and waited for her to acknowledge him. 

“Oh, Crowley. You’re here. Good.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Crowley said, doing his best to keep the tremor out of his voice. 

“I suppose you wonder why I’ve called you here.” 

“I do, m’lady, yes.”

“You’re being transferred, effective immediately.” 

Transferred. Crowley could have collapsed in relief that she hadn’t said ‘dismissed’, but he didn’t fully understand. “Transferred, m’lady?”

“Yes. You know my brother, Aziraphale, the Duke of Tadfield?”

Crowley didn’t, he’d only heard the name, but didn’t disagree. “Yes, m’lady.”

“Well, his valet died a little over two months ago, and he’s been limping along without one ever since, the ridiculous creature. I’m sending you to him as a mercy.”

Transferred. _Transferred._ And he was being elevated at the same time. He’d be serving a Duke instead of an Earl. Unbelievable. 

“It would be my honor, m’lady. For how long?”

“Oh, permanently, I’d imagine. Provided he likes you.”

Crowley hoped to hell the Duke would like him. 

“Yes, m’lady.”

“I’ll expect you to acquit yourself as well for him as you have for the Earl.”

“I’ll do my best, m’lady,” Crowley said, giving her a relieved smile he couldn’t help. 

“There’s something else. I have another job for you. You see, my brother, the Duke, is nearing forty and hasn’t yet married. It’s well past time for him to take a wife,” she said, her voice stern. “Not to mention, he needs an heir.”

Crowley was confused. “I don’t understand, m’lady.”

“You’re going to be in his employ, but you’ll also be in mine. I expect you to do some reconnaissance work for me.” She stopped and narrowed her eyes. “You _can_ read and write, can’t you?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“Good. Well, the job is simple. I want you to report any information to me that you think might help me to find him a wife. Where he goes, who he sees, who he talks about, that sort of thing. I have suspicions that he has some… _unnatural proclivities_ , and I’d like to find out more about that, as well. I expect updates from you, written and delivered personally to me by messenger, on every second Friday. Can you do that?”

What else could he say? He nodded. “Yes.”

“Very good. In addition to what my brother will pay you, I’ll pay you five pounds a month to do as I ask.”

Crowley blinked. Five pounds a month? That was half his salary, a hefty amount, and he couldn’t possibly say no. 

“Thank you, m’lady.”

“You're welcome. If I deem that your information has been valuable, I’ll give you a bonus of twenty-five pounds when he marries.”

Crowley’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Twenty-five pounds?! That was more than two months’ pay!

“That’s very generous, m’lady.”

Michael waved a hand dismissively, saying, “It’s a pittance, compared to what it will be worth to see him finally married with an heir on the way. Are you agreeable?”

Crowley nodded. “Yes, m’lady.”

“Very good. Now, you go pack up your room here while I write the required letter to my brother. Can you be ready to leave in an hour?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“Very good. Come back here in an hour and I’ll have your letter of introduction ready for you. And then you can go to the townhouse. For now, you’re dismissed.”

“Yes, m’lady. Thank you, m’lady,” Crowley said, bowing low then scurrying from the room to make his way below stairs, his heart thudding. He couldn't believe his luck! To serve a Duke would be the highest station he could aspire to, short of serving the King, and Crowley was _chuffed_. It was an honor being bestowed upon him and he knew it. He was a little uneasy about the spying part - and that’s what it would be, spying - but he figured he’d get used to that soon enough. For an extra five pounds a month - plus the promise of twenty-five pounds - he was sure he’d get used to it _very_ quickly. 

It took him only thirty minutes to pack up the little room, and he sat on the bed with his carpetbag beside him while he waited for the hour to be up. The time seemed to crawl by and he bounced his foot anxiously. What if she changed her mind? No, no, he mustn't think that. Finally, the time had come and he went back to the drawing room, knocking on the door. 

“Come in,” Michael said, and Crowley pushed open the door. Before he could speak, she smiled and got to her feet. “Oh, Crowley, good. You’re right on time. Here is your letter. Just give it to my brother and it will explain everything. He may resist at first, but if he does, you feel free to tell him that if he doesn’t hire you, you’ll be homeless.”

Crowley blanched, holding the letter in loose fingers, but Michael didn’t seem to notice. 

“Now, Jones is at the back, waiting to take you over. I expect a message from you on Friday next, and then every other Friday after that. Alright?”

“Yes, m’lady,” Crowley said, still not recovered from the casual way she’d mentioned him being homeless.

“Very good. Godspeed to you,” she said, then patted him on the arm and smiled at him in a way that seemed smug to Crowley. 

“Thank you, m’lady,” Crowley said, then bowed and went to the back to meet Jones, carrying a bag with all his possessions in one hand and a letter in the other.

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale Fell, the Ninth Duke of Tadfield, was enjoying a quiet afternoon in his library with a good book. It was his favorite place to be, by far, and the place he spent most of his time. He had over five thousand volumes in his personal collection and was always on the lookout for more, particularly antique books. Literature had always been his refuge, his safe place, and he never felt better than when he was in the middle of a fantastic book. Today, he was reading an old favorite, the collected works of Plato. He loved philosophy more than almost any other topic, loved the way it stirred his thoughts, and was perfectly content at this moment in his chair, in front of the fire with a glass of scotch on the table beside him.

There was a knock at the door and Aziraphale looked up from his book with a small half-smile. “Yes?”

Shadwell, his butler, stepped in, looking more ruffled than usual. “Sorry to interrupt, Your Grace.”

“It’s quite alright, Shadwell. Did you need something?”

“The Countess has sent a valet for you.”

Aziraphale sighed. Of course she had. He was frankly surprised it hadn't happened sooner. 

“Do we know who he is?”

“The Earl’s valet.”

Aziraphale blinked. “She sent Thomas’ valet to me?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” 

“I assume he’s waiting outside.”

“Yes, Your Grace. He has a letter for you.”

“I’ll just bet he does. Very well, send him in, and wait for him in the corridor. I may be sending him right back out,” Aziraphale said, closing his book and setting it to the side, getting to his feet. 

“Right away, Your Grace,” Shadwell said with a bow, then went out into the corridor. Aziraphale sighed to himself. His meddlesome sister was at it again. He’d had every intention to replace his old valet, Wadsworth, he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Truth be told, he was grieving, as inappropriate as that was for a Duke to do for a servant. Wadsworth had been his valet since he was a very young man, and had been something of a father figure to him. He’d kept secrets and run interference for him, and Aziraphale was sure he’d never find another like Wadsworth. Didn’t really want to, at the moment. But it appeared his sister was forcing his hand. He sighed again. He was as annoyed as he was grateful.

While he waited, he reached down and picked up his scotch glass, taking a sip. But he nearly dribbled it out of his mouth when he got his first look at the man who was to be his valet. 

The new valet was tall and lean, dressed in nice, black clothes suitable for a valet that fit him perfectly. His face was a study of angles - a study that Aziraphale wanted to make frequently - and his eyes were wide and anxious. They were also the lightest possible brown, more of an amber, really, and on top of his head was a shock of ginger hair, artfully tousled, perhaps by the wind on the drive over. All in all, he was the most beautiful creature Aziraphale had ever seen in his _life_ , and he blinked owlishly.

Aziraphale stared for a minute, not quite believing that something so beautiful could be _real_ , then shook himself and plastered on a smile. “Hello,” he said as soon as he was able. “I understand you’re to be my new valet.”

“Uh, yes, Your Grace,” the man said, his eyes still wide, but now he looked surprised. “I, um, I have this for you,” he said, then stepped forward and handed Aziraphale a letter. 

Aziraphale took it, careful not to touch this man, afraid of what his reaction might be, then broke his sister’s wax seal and unfolded the paper. 

_Aziraphale,_  
_Since you won’t hire a new valet for yourself, I was forced to take matters into my own hands. This is Crowley. He’s been serving Thomas for the last six months, but your need is greater than Thomas’. He’s well trained and a good employee. I think you’ll be happy with him. If not, I won’t be offended if you dismiss him - after you find a suitable replacement._  
_Your sister,_  
_Michael_

Aziraphale folded the letter and looked up at the beautiful man - Crowley. All he wanted to do was get lost in those eyes, but he supposed he should probably at least _try_ to be professional. If he even could. Heavens, he was all aflutter. 

He gave the flushing Crowley a small smile, hoping to put him at ease. “The letter says you’ve been Thomas’ valet for the last six months.”

“That’s accurate, Your Grace.”

“Where were you before then?”

“I was valet to the Marquess of Sandridge. I started with him when I was fifteen and worked with him until his death seven months ago.”

“Ah, yes, I remember. Are you married? Do you bring a wife I need to employ as well?”

Crowley shook his red head. “No, no wife. It’s just me.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said, trying to ignore the little flash of pleasure he felt, knowing there was no wife. That didn't make this man available. He needed to get a hold of himself. 

“What is your name? Your Christian name?”

“Anthony, Your Grace. Anthony J. Crowley.”

“Would you prefer for me to call you Anthony?”

Crowely looked puzzled. “I’m sorry?”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “I’m a bit different than other members of the ton. I have a slightly more casual relationship with my staff than some others. In fact, the man you are replacing was one of my dearest friends before he died. I’m hopeful that you and I can become friends, too,” Aziraphale said. “So I’d like to call you by the name you’ll be most comfortable with.”

“Um, I prefer Crowley, Your Grace.”

“Then Crowley it shall be,” Aziraphale said with a smile. He held the smile until Crowley returned it, albeit a bit warily, and oh, heavens. His smile was stunning.

“If I may ask a rude question?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“How much did my sister pay you?”

“Ten pounds per month.”

“So you’re due for a raise. Is fourteen pounds per month agreeable to you?”

Crowley looked agog. “Y-Yes, Your Grace.”

“Very good. Of course, your room and board will be provided by me as well.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale withdrew his pocket watch and checked the time. “It’s very near time for the dinner bell. Why don’t you spend the evening settling in and we’ll get started together tomorrow morning?” 

“Very good, Your Grace.”

“Excellent. Have Shadwell fill you in on my daily schedule this evening, if you will.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

He smiled again. “I’m not a difficult man to get along with, Crowley. I’m not cruel to my servants, and I do my best to treat them fairly. They’re all very loyal to me. I do hope you’ll enjoy working here, being my valet.”

“I’m sure I will, Your Grace.”

On an impulse, knowing it was improper to do so, Aziraphale stepped forward and offered his hand to shake. Crowley looked at it for a moment, his eyes wide again, before he took it. When he did, Aziraphale felt electricity skitter up his arm and set his heart racing. Oh, goodness. 

“Welcome, Crowley. I’m very glad you’re here. I think you and I will get along famously, indeed.”

“I hope so, Your Grace.”

“Shadwell will show you to your room. Get settled in, get to know the staff a bit, then I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.”

“It’s entirely my pleasure,” Aziraphale said with a smile. 

Crowley bowed low, and Aziraphale inclined his head in acknowledgement, then Crowley left the library. Aziraphale heard a brief, quiet conversation between Crowley and Shadwell in the corridor, then the voices faded away. But Aziraphale’s smile didn't fade. He didn't think he’d be able to do anything but smile just yet. Oh, he could just _kiss_ his sister. 

But he chastised himself. As attracted as he was, he couldn't act on it. He needed to act with the dignity befitting his station. He needed to be aloof. He didn’t yet have Crowley’s loyalty and if Crowley suspected he was homosexual, he might out him. At the very least, that would be highly embarrassing. At the worst, he could be hanged. He needed to tread lightly. 

Still, he couldn't help but be excited about the prospect of spending plenty of time, up close and personal, with his new valet. And he _did_ intend to thank his sister as profusely as he could without giving away his true thoughts. 

Aziraphale went back to his chair and his book and his scotch, but it was a while before he could concentrate. His mind was full of red hair, lean angles, and amber eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your love to this story so far! I hope you'll continue to enjoy it <3 <3 I start chapter 19 today, and am nearly done with writing it!

Crowley was in a bit of a daze when he exited the library. To be honest, mentally, he felt like he’d been run over by a carriage. The Duke was _nothing_ like he’d expected. In truth, he hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been the reality. The duke was _gorgeous_ , with ocean blue eyes and snowy blond hair that curled. Honest to Christ, he looked like an angel. Crowley had never been so affected by anyone at first sight before in his entire life. 

“All alright then?” the butler asked in a gruff tone, snapping Crowley back to attention. 

Crowley blinked for a second, then nodded to the butler, Shadwell. “Yes. Quite.”

“Is he keeping you on?”

“Seems to be.”

Shadwell gave him a piercing look. “Are you a witch, warlock, or person who calls his cat funny names?”

Crowley blinked again. “Er, no. Not a witch, no cat.”

“Good. I’m to show you to your room?”

“Yes, and give me an overview of His Grace’s schedule.”

“Very well. Come with me.”

The older man started down the corridor and Crowley followed immediately, falling into step beside him. But he couldn't help glancing back over his shoulder at the library door. Just a fleeting glance. 

“His Grace likes to be awakened at eight thirty most days. He dresses and shaves before breakfast, which is at nine. Sometimes he’ll take breakfast in his room. The kitchen staff are well used to bringing his meal to his room, and I’d say he maybe does that two or three times a week. And he likes to read the paper while he eats.”

Crowley nodded his understanding. “Alright.”

“He attends business in the mornings, and lunch is at one. Most days, he spends the afternoon in the library, or perhaps at his gentlemen’s club. Then he changes for dinner at six. After dinner, if he doesn’t have a social obligation, he tends to retreat to the library until time to retire, which is usually about ten thirty.” 

“Does he go out much? Or entertain?”

“Not a great deal, unless it’s during the Season,” Shadwell said. “He’s a bit of a bluestocking, bless him, but we love him.”

Crowley was a bit shocked that Shadwell had just called the Duke a term usually reserved for women, but didn’t ask questions. “He seems nice,” he finally said.

“Oh, he is. Very. But he’s still the master and it’s best you don't forget that,” Shadwell warned.

“I won’t,” Crowley promised. “Is he very fussy?”

“Yes and no. He definitely likes things a certain way and you’ll find those out soon enough, but he’s not an arsehole if things don’t go his way. In fact, he’s rarely an arsehole at all. He won’t yell and scream at you for something not being to his liking, unless it becomes an extended habit. And even then, he will have given you plenty of chances to correct it. In fact, I’ve been working for this family since I was a lad, and I’ve only ever known him to be angry with a servant once, when a book was carelessly damaged. And he apologized to the servant after for his outburst.”

“Wow.”

“You’ve been a valet before, aye?”

“Yes. I’ve been working as a valet since I was a young man. I started as an apprentice when I was fifteen and took over the job when I was twenty.”

“You’ll be fine, laddie.”

Crowley sure hoped so. “Do you like working for him?”

“I love it. Best position I could ever ask for. We all love our place here, and are very loyal to him. Any one of us would do nearly anything to please and protect him.”

Crowley squirmed a little, thinking about the reconnaissance he was being paid to do. If he were caught, it could lead to his dismissal and ostracization. But what choice did he have? He tried to shake off the unsettled feeling.

“Tell me about the house. I take it you’re in charge?”

Shadwell laughed. “You’d think so, but nae, laddie. This house is run by my wife, Tracy, the head cook, and Beezle, the housekeeper.”

“Tracy and Beezle,” Crowley repeated. “I’ll do my best to introduce myself to them tonight.”

“Oh, you’ll get your chance. Everyone is going to be eager to meet you. We’re all a family here. Moreso than in most other households.”

That made Crowley a little more nervous.

Shadwell didn’t seem to sense his discomfort. “M’wife is going to be chuffed to meet you. You’re thin as a rail. She’s going to adopt you and try to plump you up.”

Crowley was surprised. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. It’s a certainty.”

He pushed open the door to let them into the servant’s area and Crowley followed him through. “I’ll just introduce you quickly and then take you to your room before dinner.”

“Alright,” Crowley agreed. 

He led Crowley down a narrow corridor towards a large room where several people were gathered, then drew to a stop beside the long table.

“If I can have your attention, everyone,” Shadwell said loudly. 

The room fell silent and all eyes turned to look at him. Crowley fought a blush. 

“This is Crowley. He was sent here by the Countess to replace Wadsworth.”

“It’s about time,” one of the men grumbled.

“Has His Grace signed off on this?” another man asked. 

“He has, and he’s told Crowley to settle in tonight and start work tomorrow. I expect all of you to be polite and make him welcome.”

There was a murmur of assent from the people gathered there, then a petite, redheaded woman stepped forward with a smile. 

“Hello, dear. My name is Tracy Shadwell, and I’m the head cook.”

Crowley gave a little bow. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, too! It’s nice to have fresh faces.”

Crowley looked out over the other people in the room. “Are you sure about that?” he wondered aloud. 

Tracy looked over her shoulder, then turned back to Crowley and Shadwell, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about them. We were all very attached to Wadsworth. They’ll come around quite soon, I promise.”

“It’s big shoes you have to fill, laddie,” Shadwell said. 

“I’ll do my best, and I have no intention of stepping on any toes.”

Tracy patted his arm. “Of course you don’t, dear. And I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Then she squeezed his arm, her eyes lighting up. “My, you’re skin and bone, aren’t you? Well that won’t do. Go get settled in and then come back here so I can feed you. We’ll have you at a healthy weight in no time.”

“Yes, Mrs. Shadwell,” he said, a little dumbfounded. He hadn’t been mothered since his own mother had died when he was nineteen.

Shadwell clapped him on the shoulder with a crooked smile. “I told you, laddie. Now come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

He led him down another corridor to a series of rooms until he got to the last one on the right and opened the door. “These will be your quarters.”

Crowley stepped inside and blinked, surprised. It was much, much nicer than any room he’d ever been given before. For one thing, it was bigger, damn near double the size of his last quarters. It sported a comfortable-looking bed, a small desk with a clock, a bedside table with a lamp, a chifferobe, chest of drawers, and a mirror. There was a rug that covered most of the stone floor and a small, narrow window near the ceiling. 

“What do you think?” Shadwell asked. 

“It’s very nice. More than I expected,” he said honestly. 

“I’m glad you find it pleasing.” 

In the distance, the dinner bell rang and they both looked up. 

“I’d best go,” Shadwell said. “You unpack and when you’re done, come to the kitchen so you can properly meet the staff. Servants’ dinner is served an hour after His Grace’s, so you have a little time.”

“Alright.”

Shadwell offered his hand and Crowley took it. “Welcome aboard, laddie. I think you’ll do well here.”

“I hope you’re right. Thank you for the welcome.”

“It’s m’pleasure. See you at dinner.”

With that, the butler turned and went back into the hall, towards the upstairs, and Crowley was left alone in his quarters with his thoughts.

~*~O~*~

It didn’t take long for him to put away his meager possessions, mostly clothes that he hoped would still be appropriate in the household of a Duke. When he finished, he allowed himself a rare moment of sloth and lay across his bed, his hands folded behind his head, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about the events of the day - and his meeting with the Duke. Now that he had time, he let his mind wander a bit. 

Apart from being physically beautiful, which he was, the Duke had seemed _kind_. Crowley had long ago developed the ability to read people on early acquaintance, to spot red flags, but there seemed to be none about the Duke, none at all. It would have been easy for him to throw Crowley out on his arse, but the Duke hadn’t, he'd even given Crowley a raise! Without a moment of work from Crowley to show his ability, at that. He seemed to genuinely be a good person. That was rare enough amongst common folk, but it was almost unheard of amongst the gentry. 

Crowley still couldn’t get over how absolutely beautiful he was. It wouldn’t be a hardship to look at him, that was for sure. But Crowley needed to be careful. This attraction - if that’s even what it was - had the potential to be dangerous, even possibly lethal. He couldn’t let it grow, and he most certainly couldn’t let it show. God knew he’d been burned by his attractions in the past. Hopefully it would just be a passing fancy, and quickly forgotten. 

Putting aside his thoughts, he got to his feet, straightened his clothes, and went down to the common area. He was early for dinner, but figured he could talk to some people, maybe make some alliances. Realistically, he knew it was going to take a while for him to fit in to the staff. It always did. He’d just been making inroads in the Earl and Countess’ home before he’d been transferred today. 

Jesus, had that only been today? He was still stunned. 

When he arrived at the common room, there were three people sitting at the long table, playing cards, two men and a woman. They looked up when he came in and he tensed, not sure what to expect. 

“Crowley, is it?” the woman said. She had a piquant face with dark hair pulled in a severe bun and black eyes. 

“Uh, yes. I’m the new valet.”

She got to her feet - which didn’t make much of a difference, since she was so petite - and offered her hand. “I’m Beezle Prince, the head housekeeper.”

Crowley took her hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. This is Ligur,” she said, indicating the dark skinned man, “and this is Hastur.” She indicated the other man, with unruly white hair, and both of them nodded a greeting. “They’re both footmen.”

Crowley nodded politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Do you play?” Ligur asked.

“Cards? Yes, on occasion.”

“Want to be dealt in? We have time for a few hands before dinner.”

“Yes, thank you,” Crowley said, sitting down on the bench. Beezle dealt the cards in silence. 

“So how long have you been a valet?”

“Full time for about fifteen or sixteen years.”

They looked surprised. “You must have started young.”

“I did, at fifteen. But I was just an apprentice for a long while.”

“So you know what you’re doing.”

“I like to think so.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here, mate,” Hastur said. “I’ve been helping to cover since Wadsworth passed and been struggling. His Grace hasn’t complained when I’ve made a muck of things, he never would, but I’ve still felt badly about it.”

“We’re all glad you’re here,” Beezle said. “None of us mind the extra work, but His Grace has needed an expert.”

“I’m looking forward to starting tomorrow,” Crowley said honestly, feeling much more comfortable than he had expected to.

“Do you have any questions for us?” Hastur asked. “We’ll be happy to help you any way we can.”

“I have loads of questions, but no idea where to start,” Crowley admitted. “I guess I should ask about the Duke himself?”

“He’s great. Best damn boss any of us could ever ask for.”

The other two agreed. “He is. I love working here.”

“Is there anything I need to be aware of?”

“Yeah,” Beezle said, her beetle-black eyes narrowing and glinting a bit. “It’s not just lip service. We really do love the Duke. All of us do. And we’re all fiercely protective of him.”

Crowley squirmed internally, thinking of the spying again. “You’ve got nothing to worry about from me. I’m not here to make trouble.” And it was true. All the Countess wanted was for him to be married with an heir. There was no harm in that, was there? “I just want to do a good job.”

“Good. As long as both of those things are true, we’ll all get along fine.”

There was a bell that made all of them look up, and Beezle started gathering the cards. “Time to clear up for dinner.”

“You’re in for a treat. Tracy is a fantastic cook. After, we can play some more, and you can meet the rest of the staff.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Crowley said with a smile. And it was true, he was. Honestly, he was starting to think that the Countess had blessed him by sending him here even more than he’d thought originally.

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale was awake but lying in bed when Crowley came in the next morning, a little before eight thirty. He listened to Crowley bustling about the room, preparing, and tamped down his excitement. It was just their first day together. He might find Crowley to be unpleasant or something. Mustn’t get his hopes up.

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale smiled and sat up on the side of the bed. “Good morning to you, Crowley.”

“I trust you slept well, Your Grace?” he asked, holding up the dressing gown.

Aziraphale slipped his feet into the slippers and turned his back so Crowley could put the gown on him. “Very well, indeed, thank you. Are my clothes ready?”

“Yes, Your Grace, on the horse behind the screen.”

“Excellent. Pardon me for a moment and I’ll have you help me shave. Oh, and Crowley?”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Would you send word to the staff that I’d like to take breakfast in my chambers this morning? They know what to do.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Thank you.”

Aziraphale stepped behind the screen to relieve himself, then undressed and pulled on his hose and trousers. He’d just gotten them on and was putting on his shirt when he heard Crowley come back in. 

“Is that you, Crowley?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Very good.”

“Do you require assistance with your clothes or buttons, Your Grace?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not at this time. I’ve gotten fairly adept at dressing myself over the last two months. But if you could prepare my shaving materials, I’ll be ready to use them in just a minute.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale finished dressing himself to his shirtsleeves and waistcoat and stepped out from behind the screen to see Crowley at his dressing table, whipping the shaving bar with a brush to make foam. He smiled when he saw him, he couldn’t help it, and went over to the table. 

“Are you ready for me?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Would you like me to shave you?”

God, yes, he did, but didn’t think he was quite ready to be that close to Crowley yet. “I’ll quite likely take you up on that in the future, since it's a job I detest doing myself. But I’d like to know you a bit better before I give you the opportunity to cut me.”

Crowley blanched, and Aziraphale gave him a small smile. “Forgive me, dear. I’m joking with you. I like to joke with my friends. I do hope you’ll grow comfortable with my sense of humor soon.”

“I’m sure I will, Your Grace.”

“Good. Now, would you mind holding the mirror for me?”

“Not at all, sir,” Crowley said, then handed over the shaving bowl and picked up the mirror. Aziraphale applied the foam to his face, then picked up the glistening blade and started to shave. 

“You seem nervous,” he observed, hoping to make conversation. 

“I just want to do a good job, Your Grace.”

“I’m quite sure you will. And I’ll likely have you take on more duties over time, but to start out, we’ll just have a light few days or so.”

“Yes, sir.”

Aziraphale shaved himself quickly, stealing glances at Crowley when he could. He was twice as beautiful today as he’d been yesterday, and in the morning light, he could see more detail of his face. There were fine lines beside his eyes that spoke of smiles, and a smattering of freckles on his pointed nose. Bloody hell, he was gorgeous. Aziraphale was twice as attracted today as he’d been at first sight. Double damn. 

He was just finishing up when there was a knock at the door and a maid appeared, carrying a tray with a domed platter, tea, and a newspaper. 

“Ah, perfect timing. Thank you, Emily,” he said, then put the razor into the bowl. He cleaned his face of the excess foam and looked at his reflection for a minute, checking for any missed spots while the maid left. When she was gone, he smiled at Crowley. “Thank you, dear. Now, if you’d help me get into my coat, we’ll have breakfast.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale thrilled at each touch of his valet’s hands, businesslike though they were, while he put on and buttoned his coat. It had been years and years since he’d been so attracted to someone. He needed to get a hold of himself. 

“There,” he said when he got the buttons done up and was satisfied with his appearance. “Well done, Crowley. You’re quite good at this.”

“I’ve hardly done anything, Your Grace, but I thank you.”

“You’ve done plenty. Now, let’s have breakfast. Come, sit with me.”

Crowley looked puzzled. “I’m sorry?”

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Can you keep a secret, Crowley?”

“Yes, of course, Your Grace.”

“The staff thinks I like to eat a hearty breakfast, but in actuality, I’ve always shared breakfast with my valet when I took it in my room. We would chat about anything and everything while we ate, just enjoying each other’s company, and then we’d start the day. Since Wadsworth died, I’ve been taking breakfast by myself, and I’ve missed the company. I was hoping you’d step into his shoes in this way, as well. Besides, I’d like a chance to talk to you and get to know you a bit.”

“Um, of course, Your Grace.”

“Jolly good. Shall we sit?” he asked, indicating the small table with two chairs. Crowley looked hesitant for a moment, then went to go sit. Aziraphale smiled, pleased, then pulled out his own chair and had a seat. He lifted the dome off of the tray and revealed its contents: four buttery scones with cream and jam.

“You’re in for a treat, Crowley,” he said with a smile. “Tracy makes wonderful scones. Do you like cherry?”

“I do, yes.”

Aziraphale was chuffed that he’d left off his title that time. “Well, help yourself.”

Crowley paused again, as if expecting a trap, but eventually took a scone. Aziraphale smiled encouragingly and picked up his own scone, opening it to smear on the cream and jam. He took a bite and let out a little moan of appreciation, then opened his eyes to see Crowley looking shocked. He smiled again and nodded towards the prepared scone in his valet’s hand. “Go on, eat.”

He took a bite obediently.

“Is it good?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Excellent. I hope you enjoy it. They’re both for you. Now, as we’re eating, why don’t you tell me a little more about yourself?”

Crowley swallowed. “I - I don’t know what you’re asking, sir.”

“Well, let’s start with the basics. Where were you born?”

“Here in London. My mother was a housekeeper for the Marquess and Marchioness of Sandridge.”

“Was your father the valet?”

Crowley’s cheeks colored. “I don’t know. My mother was never sure who my father was.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright, Your Grace.”

“I was born in London, too, here in this very house. I spent most of my childhood here, although we typically spent a good deal of time in Kent, at the family seat, too. My father enjoyed rusticating in the fresh air, but I tend to prefer the city. Have you ever been out of the city?”

“Occasionally, yes, when I’d travel with the Marquess, Your Grace.”

“Do you prefer the city or the country?”

“They both have their perks, Your Grace,” he said diplomatically.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. They do.” He took a bite and tried to think of what to say next. Crowley was proving to be difficult to draw out. “Did Shadwell go over the schedule with you?”

“Yes, sir, he did.”

“Do you have any questions for me about it?”

Crowley looked thoughtful for a minute. “I suppose I should ask if there’s anything he didn't tell me that I need to know.”

Aziraphale gave him a grin. “Well, since I don’t know what he told you, I can’t answer that.”

The valet’s cheeks reddened again, and the tips of his ears turned pink. “No, of course not, Your Grace. Forgive me, that was stupid.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, I’m only teasing you again. And you’re not stupid. You’re quite clever, I can tell. But I hope you’ll forgive _me_ for teasing.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“What _did_ he tell you?”

“Mostly a simple, bare bones schedule. You rise at eight thirty, breakfast is at nine, lunch at one. You dress for dinner at six, and tend to retire around ten-thirty.”

“That’s all true. Did he tell you anything else?”

“Precious little, Your Grace. I don't know what you like or don’t like, for example. He didn’t enlighten me to many of your preferences. All I know are my basic duties.”

“You’ll learn over time, my dear. We’ll muddle through together, won’t we? And I’m not a difficult man to get along with.”

“That’s what the staff has said, Your Grace.”

“Good. I look forward to us getting to know one another and becoming fast friends.” _Understatement_.

“I am too, Your Grace.”


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley had been part of the Duke’s household for a little less than a week, but so far he was settling in well. All the staff had been kind to him, had welcomed him warmly, and he was already feeling more at home here after six days than he had at the Earl and Countess’ house in six months. He was watching his coworkers carefully, alert for any red flags, hoping to spot potential landmines, but he’d found nothing really alarming to speak of so far. Still, he had learned a great deal about the people he worked with. 

Shadwell, as he’d said, was the leader of the household staff in name only, merely a figurehead. He didn't seem to mind that - in fact, he didn't seem to mind much at all. He was an amiable, easy-going man for the most part, although a bit kooky. He seemed fascinated by the subject of witches, almost obsessed, but harmless enough. Crowley treated him deferentially. 

Tracy, his wife, was the kindest woman Crowley had ever met. She ran the downstairs competently, usually with a smile, and everyone seemed to love her. Crowley could easily see why, and was rapidly coming to love her, too. As Shadwell had predicted, she’d taken Crowley under her wing and was mothering him. He was surprised to find that he very much liked being mothered, and Tracy had quickly become his favorite person in the house. 

Her counterpart, Beezle, was a bit more gruff. The best way Crowley could think to describe her was ‘rough around the edges’. Her small stature belied a huge personality, and she was very no-nonsense, with little patience for shenanigans. Crowley privately thought that in another life or time, she may have been a general. In fact, she ran the upstairs a bit like an army, and was tough but fair. Everyone respected her, and Crowley was no exception. 

Hastur and Ligur, the footmen, seemed to be joined at the hip. You rarely saw one without the other, and Crowley began to think of them as a package deal. They were both efficient and good at their jobs, and Crowley enjoyed playing cards with them at night, before the Duke retired. 

All in all, it was exactly as Shadwell had told him - the staff was very much like a family, and Crowley was thrilled to be fitting in so far. Honestly, it had only been six days, but Crowley hoped to be employed by the Duke for a long, long time. 

But he was well aware of his precarious position. He hadn’t forgotten his deal with Michael, to spy on the Duke, and he knew that if anyone discovered what he was doing, he’d never be trusted again. It ate at him, the guilt gnawing away at his conscience, but he didn't see another option. He’d been painted into a corner and he didn’t have a choice. He _had_ to go along with the plan, or risk dismissal. In fact, he needed to send his first message in three days. But he was dreading it. 

He’d learned a fair amount about the Duke in the last six days, as well, all of it good. When he'd first seen him, he’d thought he looked like an angel, and nothing about the Duke’s actions had given Crowley any indication that he _wasn’t_ an angel. He was kind, he was gentle. He was patient with Crowley as he learned, gently explaining his preferences as they went. He smiled easily and laughed often, and Crowley found himself smiling along with him, even laughing a few times. He couldn’t help but be happy in the face of the Duke’s pleasure. 

The Duke seemed to want a much more casual and intimate relationship with him than Crowley had experienced before, or ever even heard of. For four of the last six days, the Duke had requested him to sit and take breakfast with him, and Crowley had agreed. He didn’t talk much about himself at first, preferring to let the Duke talk so he could learn about him, but was gradually opening up. He very much enjoyed the conversations, and he liked learning about his master. 

He’d learned that the Duke was actually the youngest child, but his older brother had died as a teenager, leaving him the title. He’d learned that the Duke had a complicated relationship with his sister, whom he loved but saw as meddlesome and intimidating. He’d learned that the Duke enjoyed reading more than any other pastime, and was highly educated. He’d learned that the Duke was dreading the upcoming Season, knowing that his sister was going to increase her efforts to ‘marry him off’, as he called it. Crowley felt an uncomfortable twinge when he said that. 

Everything he’d learned about the Duke had only made his attraction grow, and that was a problem. It would be the height of stupidity to fall in love with his master, just the stupidest thing he could possibly do, but he couldn’t help it. He feared he was already falling. He’d noticed himself giving more attention and care to his job than he ever had before, for any other person he’d served, hoping to please the Duke, to earn that smile. He took a great deal of care with his clothes and chambers, making sure everything was perfect as he could make it. The praise the Duke gave him was a rich reward. 

Tonight, Crowley was below stairs, waiting for the Duke to come home from a dinner party. There was little to do until he retired, so Crowley passed the time playing cards with the rest of the staff. He’d had a good night, winning a few coppers, and it was his turn to deal the cards when Shadwell came downstairs and interrupted. 

“His Grace has returned, and he’s ready for you, Crowley.”

“Yes, Mr. Shadwell,” Crowley said, pocketing his winnings and getting to his feet quickly. Without another word, he left to go to the Duke’s chamber. He was excited, just as he always was to see the Duke, but he tried to tamp it down. It was just a little crush he had, that was all. Just a crush. It would pass. 

He paused outside the Duke’s door and took a single deep breath before he knocked and pushed open the door. 

“Is that you, Crowley?” the Duke asked.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Oh, very good.”

In the low light, he could see that the Duke had unbuttoned his coat but hadn’t removed it, and was pulling things out of his pockets to lay on his dressing table. Crowley leapt into action, going to take the coat off of him, laying it to the side. 

“How was your evening, dear?” the Duke asked, and Crowley felt the same thrill he always did when he called him ‘dear’. It was probably nothing but it made him feel special somehow. 

“Very nice, Your Grace. I hope yours was?”

“Oh, yes. It was a fine dinner party. Very relaxed.”

“Would you care to tell me about it, Your Grace?” he asked, because he’d learned that the Duke very much liked chatting. 

“If you’re interested, I will.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

The Duke smiled. “Very well. It was hosted by an old friend, Lord Northerton, and his wife. There were only a handful of other people in attendance, but they were all known to me, so it was very comfortable.” The Duke, still mostly dressed, disappeared behind his screen to undress, and Crowley took his place by the screen, ready to receive the clothes. “Dinner was a lovely affair, then the men retired to the parlor to drink port, smoke cigars, and talk politics - which is my least favorite part of any evening.”

“You don’t like port, cigars, and politics, Your Grace?” Crowley asked, taking the shirt when the Duke presented it from behind the screen. 

“I like port, I suppose, but not cigars. And I’m ambivalent about politics. I’m knowledgeable, but don’t like to discuss it. There’s too much opportunity to breed ill will amongst friends.”

“Understandable, Your Grace,” Crowley said, grabbing the breeches when they were offered, and trying not to think of the Duke behind the screen, naked. 

“All in all, though, it was a very enjoyable night,” the Duke said, stepping out from behind the screen wearing his nightclothes. 

“I’m glad to hear it, Your Grace,” Crowley said, looking him over as boldly as he dared, feeling himself thicken a bit in his trousers, seeing so much skin. 

“Tomorrow, I have an appointment with the tailor to order a wardrobe for the season, since my esteemed sister insists I can’t retire to the estate in Kent for the duration.”

Crowely smiled, amused. “Very good, Your Grace.”

“Would you be willing to take breakfast with me in the morning?” the Duke asked, sounding almost hopeful in Crowely’s stupid ears, and Crowley felt his pulse speed up. He simply _must_ get a hold of himself.

“I’d be happy to, Your Grace.”

“Oh, very good,” the Duke said, giving a little wiggle of happiness that enchanted Crowley even more. Stupid! “I look forward to that, then.”

“I do too, Your Grace.”

The Duke yawned, then smiled. “I think I’m going to retire now. It’s been a long day and I’m rather wearied. Will you retire as well?”

“As soon as I get your clothes handled, Your Grace.”

“Very good. Sleep well, Crowley, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Sleep well, Your Grace,” Crowley said with a bow, then left, feeling a bit dizzy and even more in love.

~*~O~*~

As was his habit, Aziraphale went to his club on Thursday after lunch. He spent a pleasurable afternoon in the library, chatting with the friends that stopped by and spoke to him, in a chair that was the perfect distance from the fire with a glass of scotch. He was in a good mood, lost in a book, when he heard a friendly voice. 

“Aziraphale!”

He looked up to see his best friend, Fergus Fitzgerald, Earl of Prentice, strolling into the library, and he smiled. Fergus was tall and handsome, with strawberry blond hair and an easy smile. He’d been Aziraphale’s best friend since they were at Eton together as children, and no one knew him better than Fergus. 

“Fergus!” he greeted, closing his book and getting to his feet, offering his hand. 

“I thought I might find you here,” Fergus said, shaking it. 

“You know me too well.”

“I’d better, after so long,” Fergus grinned, releasing his hand and sitting in the chair opposite him, sure of his welcome. Aziraphale smiled and sat back down, glad he was here. 

“You look spiffy,” Fergus said, pouring his own scotch. 

Aziraphale looked down at himself. “Yes, well, I have a new valet. He’s _very_ good.”

“Oh, you do?”

“Indeed. Michael sent him.”

Fergus scoffed. “Of course she did. Well? Do you like him?”

Aziraphale felt a bit of a thrill at that and his cheeks heated. “Yes, I like him a great deal.” _Understatement._ With every passing day, he was more attracted to Crowley. 

His best friend gave him a bit of an odd, quirked smile at that, but it cleared after a minute. “Well, that was good timing, anyway. The Season starts soon.”

“Don’t remind me,” Aziraphale groaned. 

Fergus chuckled, well aware of Aziraphale’s objection to the matchmaking social season. In fact, Fergus was one of only a handful of people who knew his real reluctance to marry - that he was homosexual. Men having relationships with other men was not uncommon in the ton, and perfectly acceptable as long as everyone was discreet, but Aziraphale was a bit unusual in that he had _no_ inclination towards ladies at all. Still, Fergus had never judged him for it, and had kept his secret faithfully for over two decades. 

“I suppose your sister will intensify her efforts to get you to marry?”

Aziraphale sighed. “You know she will.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, it’s alright. I’ll survive this Season, just as I’ve survived all the others before it. I’ve become quite used to being a disappointment to my older sister.”

“You would have to,” Fergus laughed. “Since you do it so often.”

“Indeed.”

“Still, the Season has its high points.”

“I suppose. I just hate feeling like a thoroughbred being considered to stud.”

“It wasn’t my favorite feeling, either.”

“Yes, but matrimony suits you so well,” Aziraphale said, smiling. Fergus had been blessed enough to find a love match three years ago, and Aziraphale was immensely happy for him. “How is dear Ella?”

“She’s wonderful. Excited about the Season.”

“And little Daniel?”

Fergus puffed with pride. “Took his first steps last week.”

“Oh, how wonderful. You must be so proud.”

“I am.”

Aziraphale heard a voice passing by in the corridor, outside the library door, and looked up at the sound. He spotted Gabriel Messenger, Duke of Weatherton, standing in the corridor, chatting with someone. He glanced at Aziraphale, and when their eyes met, he gave a tiny, imperceptible wink. Aziraphale felt himself give a slight blush, then Gabriel was gone. 

“That still going on, then?” Fergus asked, a hint of steel in his voice. 

Aziraphale fought a sigh and turned back, preparing himself for the same old argument they always had. “I suppose so, although I haven’t seen him in a few weeks.”

“I’m living and breathing for the day you tell me you won’t see him again at all.”

“I know, dear.”

“He’s bad for you, Aziraphale. He’s a snake in the grass.”

“You’ve made your opinion on the matter quite clear.”

“Yes, but you don’t _listen_ to me.”

“I do. I take your advice under serious advisement, you know this. I just… get lonely.”

“There are lots of other men you could abate your loneliness with, Aziraphale. You don’t _have_ to see him.”

“It’s not like we have a relationship,” Aziraphale protested. “I’m certainly not in love. It’s just... a scratching of the itch, from time to time.”

“Well, you’d be better off hiring a rent boy when you feel the need to scratch. Some urchin from the street would be less likely to stab you in the back.”

“Your opinion is, as always, noted.”

Fergus harrumphed, sensing the dismissal, and took a sip of his scotch. “So your sister sent a valet, unprompted.”

Aziraphale felt another thrill, thinking of Crowley again, and he couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, she did. Almost three weeks ago.”

“How’s he working out?”

“Oh, very well, so far.”

“Has he ever been a valet before?”

“Yes. He was Sandridge’s valet until his death.”

“So he's an older fellow?”

“No, he’s about my age.”

“Is he married?”

“No.” _Thank God._

Fergus leveled a look at him. “You like him.”

Aziraphale froze, but tried not to let on. “He’s very competent.”

“That’s not what I meant. You _like_ him.”

“I’m quite sure I don't know what you mean,” Aziraphale lied. 

“Come off it, Aziraphale. You and I have been best friends since we were children. You can be honest with me. You _like_ him.”

Aziraphale sighed, not really seeing a way out of this. But maybe it wasn’t so bad. Fergus _was_ his best friend, and confession was good for the soul. And maybe Fergus could give him some guidance. “Yes,” he admitted. “I like him.”

Fergus took another sip of his scotch. “Tell me about him.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Just… tell me about him.”

“Well, his name is Crowley, and as I told you, he’s about my age. He’s a bit quiet for now, but I’m slowly drawing him out. I’ve liked everything I’ve learned about him.”

“Oh, so this isn’t just a physical attraction.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. Although I am _desperately_ physically attracted. He’s tall and lean with gorgeous eyes and ginger hair. Absolutely the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“Surely not _that_ beautiful.”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said with a smile. “He’s _that_ beautiful.”

“What’s he like?”

“He seems wonderful, from what I’ve been able to draw out of him. We’ve been talking over breakfast and as he serves me, but I’ve not learned a great deal about him yet. Everything I _have_ learned has only served to make me _more_ attracted. I very much want to be close to him.”

“In what way?”

“In all ways. And I’m not sure what to do.”

“Would you like a bit of advice?”

Aziraphale smiled, relieved. “Yes, please.”

“The very first thing you need to do is make sure he’s loyal to you. That’s vital. You need to be able to trust him implicitly.”

“I had thought that, too. But how do I find that out?”

“The simplest way is to tempt him with some money. Leave a few crowns in your pocket or some other valuable and see if he returns it to you.”

“I’m quite sure he will.”

“Well, if he does, you’ll have a fair idea that he’s trustworthy. Then you can start to feel him out.”

“And how do I go about _that_?”

“Oh, come on, Aziraphale. He’s your valet. There are plenty of opportunities for touching and caressing. See how he touches you, and how he reacts to you. Just… flirt with him.”

“I don’t just want a sexual relationship,” Aziraphale reiterated. “I want an _actual_ relationship.”

“That's much more tricky, you know. It's not a big deal to sleep with a servant, but falling in love with one…”

“I know. But I feel like I'm already headed that way. I think about him all the time.”

Fergus took another drink. “Do me a favor and spend a couple of weeks finding out if he’s loyal to you - and if he’s gay. Maybe flirt a little, as I suggested. But I can’t advise you strongly enough to be cautious. So, so cautious.”

“What do I do if I feel he’s loyal to me - and gay?”

“Then we’ll need to make sure he’s interested in _you_ and isn’t just going along with you to keep his job.”

That was a horrible thought, and Aziraphale recoiled. “I’d never do that!”

“I know that, but he doesn’t. Just… take it slow, alright? Feel him out, and flirt with him. Make him comfortable. Earn his trust.”

“I think I can do that,” Aziraphale said, his mind swirling with subtle ways to flirt with Crowley. Then he gave a sharp look to Fergus. “Why are you helping me?”

“You’re my best friend,” Fergus said simply. 

“Yes, but I expected you to advise me away from him once you discovered I wasn’t just interested in sex. Why?”

“Because I want you to be happy, Aziraphale. That’s all I want - your happiness. And if this valet will make you happy, I want you to have what you want. But, selfishly, I have to admit that it will please _me_ to see you happy - and no longer associating with Gabriel.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “I might have known.”

“So I suggest you proceed with wooing him - but be so, so careful. You only have one chance to get this right, and there are a million ways to cock it up.”

“I very much want to get everything right. I know this sounds ridiculous, but I could easily see myself spending my life with this man.”

“After three weeks of acquaintance?”

“I said I know it sounds ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not ridiculous. One step at a time, though. Find out if he’s loyal, and then determine if he’s gay. That will take you a few weeks.”

“Very well. We’ll talk again later.”

“A wise idea.”


	4. Chapter 4

Crowley was at his little desk in his room, pen in hand, looking at the blank paper. It was Thursday night, and he’d just gotten the Duke off to bed, but now he was supposed to compose a letter for the Countess to be delivered tomorrow. He hated this, hated everything about it, but didn’t see a choice. He was trapped, with no way out. 

What would happen if he just refused, he wondered? The Countess wouldn’t be able to dismiss him, would she? But she might tell the Duke and _he_ might dismiss Crowley. It was too great a risk. 

But what if _he_ told the Duke what he’d been asked to do? Would that be better? Maybe, but maybe not. His Grace may still be angry and dismiss him for being deceptive - and he’d be right to do so. Crowley wouldn't be able to blame him a bit. 

He’d been conflicted about what he’d been asked to do _before_ , but now he was completely opposed to it. In spite of his best judgment, he was falling for the Duke, tumbling head over heels, and the _last_ thing he wanted to do was spy on him. He wanted to protect his love at any and all costs, but he was being forced to do this. It was monumentally unfair, and Crowley felt tears prick his eyes. 

He swiped the wetness angrily. Well, he might be beholden to write the letters, but he wasn’t obliged to tell the whole truth. He could protect the Duke that way, at least a bit. It wasn’t much, but he’d take what he could. 

Crowley bent his head and put pen to paper. 

_My lady,_

_I regret to inform you that I have very little in the way of useful information for you that I didn’t have last time. His Grace rises in the morning and tends to business, then he spends the majority of the day reading. About twice a week, he goes to his gentleman’s club, and I know not what transpires there. He doesn’t talk to me much about who he sees or what he does, but I do know that he’s dreading the season. Nevertheless, he seems determined to go through with it, and has ordered a new wardrobe._

_I am sorry that I do not have more useful information. Perhaps as he gets to know me better, he will open up a bit more and I’ll be of more use to you._

_Sincerely,_   
_Anthony J Crowley._

Crowley read the message twice, hating himself with every word, then folded it and left it on the desk, disgusted with himself.

~*~O~*~

Crowley was up with the sun the next morning, a little earlier than usual. He didn’t want to sit in his room and brood so he got dressed for the day and went to the common area - to brood. 

It was too early for most of the other staff to be awake yet to distract him, so he sat down at the long table and tried to focus on something else - anything else but the letter in his pocket. 

He’d been sitting there only a few minutes when Tracy rounded the corner, a large bowl cradled in her arm, stirring. 

“Blueberry, dear, and we need walnuts,” she called over her shoulder, then glanced up to see Crowley at the table. She smiled warmly. “Oh, hello, dear. You’re up a bit early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said in a voice that was so sulky, it was nearly a grunt. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why the long face? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied, giving her a false smile. 

Tracy narrowed her eyes and peered at him. “Something is bothering you. I can tell.”

Something _was_ bothering Crowley, but he didn’t dare confess. 

Tracy came to sit at the table beside him, putting the bowl down and looking concerned. “What's wrong, dear? You can tell me.”

Oh, how Crowley wanted to. His secret was eating away at him, turning him inside out, and the letter he had to send in a few minutes was weighing heavily in his pocket, pulling his shoulders down into a slump. 

“Is anyone giving you a hard time?” she asked, one hand on his shoulder. Crowley felt a pang at the maternal gesture.

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not that. All the staff has been very kind.”

“Do you not like His Grace?”

_Like him? I’m falling in love with him._

Crowley sighed. “No, that’s not it. I really do like him. We seem to get on well. And I think he likes me alright,” he said, feeling another pang from the words. The Duke liked him, but not in the way Crowley hoped for. He swallowed and went on, compelled to confess - just a little. “I just… I never expected him to be like this.”

Tracy tensed a bit, almost imperceptibly. “Like what?”

“So… kind and good. None of my employers have been cruel, exactly, but none of them have ever _cared_ about me. The Duke seems to.”

The cook softened again, and there was something knowing in the small upturn of her lips. “You’ve been taking breakfast with him, haven’t you?”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “I’m not… that is… how do you…?”

She smiled gently and patted his shoulder. “He’s not as covert as he thinks he is, the dear. We always knew he took breakfast with Wadsworth. Now he does so with you.”

“He told me it was a secret.”

“We keep lots of secrets for the master,” she said. “We love him.”

 _I do, too_ , Crowley thought. 

“I _can_ tell you that he’s never singled out another servant for attention like that before, save Wadsworth. None of the footmen or Mr. S have ever been invited to join him, not in all my years working here.”

“Maybe he just tries to be on good terms with his valet.”

Tracy gave a little shrug. “Maybe. But I doubt he’d invite you for breakfast as often as he does if he didn’t like you.”

Hope swelled in Crowley’s chest, tangling with the guilt. “Do you really think so?”

“I really do. Crowley, I don’t know what your experiences have been at your old employers, but our house is different. We love each other and protect each other, like a family. And we all love His Grace. Try and remember that. Separate yourself from your old job and fall into this one.”

“I - I really like him, too. And I couldn’t explain why to you, not without betraying a confidence, but I _can’t_ completely fall into this job. Not yet, and maybe not ever.”

“Well, I’m here if you need a friendly, non-judgmental ear to bend. I’ll gladly make time to talk to you. I never had a son and always wanted one. But I think,” she said, her eyes smiling, “I think if you just let yourself become fully immersed in _this_ house and _this_ family, you’ll find yourself divested of your problems with your old house soon enough. Quicker than you think. And once that happens, I predict you’ll find real happiness here, with this staff and especially with His Grace.”

Crowley pondered that for a moment, and was surprised when she put her arms around him and hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re here, Crowley. We all are.”

“I’m glad to be here, too,” he said, letting himself get lost in the embrace. 

“That’s good to hear. So. Since you’re up, why don’t you come and get yourself a cup of coffee and some scones for breakfast?”

“Well, His Grace asked me to take breakfast with him this morning. It would be greedy for me to have more food.”

“Nonsense. I said I was going to feed you and plump you up, and that’s what I’m going to do. Now,” she said, grabbing the bowl. “Come eat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, getting to his feet and following her obediently.

~*~O~*~

The afternoon sun was warming the library as Aziraphale sat in there, by the dormant fireplace, reading. Well, he called himself reading, but what he was _really_ doing was thinking of Crowley and counting the minutes until it was time to dress for dinner and he could see him. Pathetic of him, really, but such was his state. 

It had been a little over two weeks since he’d talked with Fergus at the club, and Aziraphale had been doing his best to subtly test Crowley’s loyalty. He’d left expensive jewelry and watches out on his dressing table, but they hadn’t been touched. Several times, he’d left money in the pockets of his clothes when he took them off and given them to Crowley - from a couple of coppers to substantial amounts of money - and every time, he’d found it the next morning on his dressing table. It was encouraging. 

But it wasn't definite, and Aziraphale had taken Fergus’ admonishment to be cautious to heart. So he’d enlisted Shadwell, his most trusted servant, to use the wide-reaching, underground system of servants in the city and endeavor to find out all he could about Crowley from both his sister’s household and the home where he’d grown up and worked for twenty years. Aziraphale had asked him to find out all he could, but especially in respect to Crowley’s trustworthiness, and had done his best not to blush when he’d asked Shadwell to also inquire about Crowley’s romantic life. Shadwell had simply darted his eyes at Aziraphale curiously before he’d agreed to get a report on Crowley, and had promised to deliver it today. Aziraphale had expected Shadwell to ask why he wanted a romantic history, but Shadwell didn't say anything, which added to his long-held suspicions that the staff knew of his sexual orientation. He’d fought down a sigh when Shadwell had left. He might have known. Servants always knew _everything_. He could do nothing but treat them well and hope they kept his secret.

There was a knock at the door to the library and Aziraphale called out, “Yes?” He looked up to see Shadwell coming in. 

“Your Grace, I have the information you wanted, about Crowley.”

Aziraphale perked up considerably. “Yes, very good. Come in and shut the door, please.”

Shadwell did as instructed and came to stand in front of Aziraphale, his back straight. 

“What did you find out, Shadwell?”

“I talked to the Countess’ staff first, Your Grace, but there wasn’t much to learn there. He was only employed for six months. The overall impression of the staff was favorable, though.”

“Well, that’s good. What about in Sandridge’s home?” he asked eagerly. 

“There _was_ much to learn there. He was born in the kitchens of that house to a housekeeper and raised there. No one knew who his father was, but there were rumors that he may be the Marquess himself.”

“No!”

“Yes. Unproven, of course.”

“Of course. What else did you learn?”

“He studied as a valet from the time he was a young teen, and by the time he was 20, he was doing the job himself. He stayed there until the Marquess died a few months ago, and would have been kept on, but was dismissed because the new Marquess already had a valet.”

That was a perfectly acceptable reason to be dismissed, and eased Aziraphale’s mind. 

“What about his reputation?”

“I couldn’t find anyone in the house who had a real problem with him. Apparently, he can be a bit of a rascal, playing small pranks on those he loves, but no real trouble. It was endearing, according to the butler, Mr. Bishop.”

“Is he trustworthy?”

“According to Mr. Bishop, he is, Your Grace. Very much so.”

Aziraphale smiled, relieved and pleased. But he had one more question. 

“Did you, um, did you find out if he left a sweetheart behind? Someone he’ll be pining for?”

Shadwell gave him a disbelieving look at that, just a quick purse of the lips, and Aziraphale flushed automatically before Shadwell said, “I asked Mr. Bishop specifically about that, and he said that Crowley hadn’t left any broken-hearted maids behind. In fact…”

“Yes?”

Shadwell straightened a bit. “There’s no proof, but Mr. Bishop reported that there had always been rumors that Crowley favored men, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale’s face split into a wide smile before he could help himself. “Really.”

“Yes, Your Grace. At the bare minimum, he showed little interest in any of the young maids, much to their displeasure.”

“How… interesting.”

“Indeed, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale shook himself. “How do _you_ feel about him? What is your impression of him? Do you believe him to be trustworthy and loyal?”

“I’ve seen no evidence that he isn't, Your Grace. M’wife is especially fond of him. And she’s usually a good judge of character.”

“Indeed she is,” Aziraphale said, smiling brightly. “Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

“No, Your Grace. Only that Mr. Bishop said nothing but kind things about Crowley, and that you can rest easy, having him in your household.”

“That’s very comforting, Shadwell, thank you. I won’t forget this.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“You’re dismissed,” he said warmly, then smiled brighter when Shadwell exited. Oh, that had gone much better than he’d ever dared hope for. Aziraphale had suspected that Crowley was an honest man, although hearing the confirmation eased his mind. But hearing about his sexuality? That was more precious than gold. 

So that was two big questions answered. Crowley was trustworthy, and was likely interested in men. Now - what next? He supposed he should do as Fergus had suggested and flirt, but he wasn't exactly sure how. It had been years and years since he’d been in a position to actually flirt, and never with a servant. What could he do to cultivate Crowley’s interest in him?

Aziraphale sat in his chair, pondering on that until the bell rang, signaling it was time to dress for dinner.

~*~O~*~

The next morning, Aziraphale was lying in bed with a book, pretending to read while he waited for Crowley. In actuality, his eyes were more focused on the clock beside the bed, counting the minutes until his valet would appear. He’d spent long hours thinking and planning how to woo Crowley, and had decided to get started today. He just hoped he could get it right. Fergus had been correct - there were lots of opportunities to make a mess of this. But Aziraphale was determined not to. 

At 8:25, the door to his chambers opened and Crowley came in, dressed for duty. Aziraphale watched him covertly for a minute, taking in his beauty, wondering how he could make Crowley feel about him the way he felt about Crowley. But he couldn't help his broad smile. 

“Good morning, dear.”

Crowley jumped, then spun around to face Aziraphale. “Your Grace. You’re up early. Did you not sleep well?”

“Oh, yes. I slept fine, just up a little early,” he said with a smile, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, letting his feet seek the slippers. “How did you sleep, my dear?”

“Very well, Your Grace,” Crowley replied, holding up his dressing gown. Aziraphale got to his feet and put it on, then turned and smiled at Crowley. 

“Are my clothes ready?”

“Yes, Your Grace. On the horse, behind the screen.”

“Very good. Are you willing to take breakfast with me?”

“If you'd like, Your Grace.”

“I’d like that very much. Would you let the staff know, while I start to dress?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale watched him go with something like hunger in his eyes, then stepped behind the screen to take off his night clothes and change into his day clothes. Now it was time to enact his plan, and he was nervous, his heart fluttering in his chest. He stripped down to his smalls, then hurriedly pulled on his hose and breeches. He hesitated a moment before he pulled on his shirt, but he left it unbuttoned. Just when he was grabbing his waistcoat, he heard the door open and close again. 

“Is that you, Crowley?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard, his pulse accelerating, and closed his eyes before he called out, “I seem to be having a bit of trouble this morning. Silly me. Would you be willing to help?”

There was a pause that seemed to last six thousand years (but in actuality was barely more than a heartbeat) before Crowley said, “Absolutely, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale smiled his happiness and stepped around the screen with his shirt and waistcoat open. Crowley’s eyes darted down to his bare chest and lingered for a moment before he swallowed and looked back up at Aziraphale. 

“Here, let me, Your Grace,” he said in a slightly strangled voice, but stepped forward and began to button Aziraphale’s shirt. He was completely professional, and there was very little contact between his fingers and Aziraphale’s skin, but every brush - no matter how accidental - made Aziraphale feel as if he’d had a little shock. He couldn’t look away from Crowley’s beautiful face, even though Crowley wasn’t looking at him. He watched Crowley closely for his reaction - any reaction - and was pleased to see Crowley flushing slightly, the tips of his ears gone red. That was encouraging, wasn’t it? Crowley had been dressing men for more than twenty years, there was no reason for him to be shy - unless it meant something. Right? He also noticed that Crowley’s breathing had sped up, grown a bit ragged, a bit shallow. Aziraphale could empathize. His own respirations had increased. He’d never been this _close_ to Crowley before, and he was mildly concerned that Crowley would be able to hear the violent beat of his heart. But as close as he was, he wanted to be _closer_. He wanted to touch, to kiss, to explore, to play. To _love_.

All too soon, Crowley finished with the buttons of his shirt and made quick work of his waistcoat. Aziraphale dreaded the moment he finished and stepped back, and had to stop himself from reaching for him when he did.

“All done, Your Grace,” Crowley said, his voice rough, and he wouldn't meet Aziraphale’s eyes. 

_Touch me more, please_ , his heart cried out. 

Shaken, he cleared his throat and did his best to control his physical reaction. “Very good, Crowley. Thank you.”

“I’ll just… prepare your shaving materials.”

“Er, right. Yes. Good thinking.”

Crowley gave a short nod and went to the dressing table to prepare the foam. Aziraphale took advantage of the time to get a better hold of himself, closing his eyes and blowing out a big breath. _Calm down_ , he insisted to himself within his own mind. _There’s no rush. You have all the time in the world._

“Would you like me to shave you today, Your Grace?”

Aziraphale didn’t know if his heart could stand it.

“No, dear, thank you.”

“Still afraid I’m going to cut you, Your Grace?” Crowley said in a teasing tone that delighted Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale grinned. “How cheeky of you.”

Crowely blanched. “Sorry, I’m sorry, Your--”

“No, stop. Don’t be sorry. I like that you teased me just now. I’d like for you to do it more.”

“You would, Your Grace?”

“Of course. That’s what friends do.”

Crowley gave a little smile. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale hurried through shaving, going as quick as he could without cutting himself, and was just finishing up when Emily arrived with the breakfast tray. 

“Oh, very good. Thank you, Emily.”

He wiped off his face, clearing the foam, until Emily was gone, then he gave Crowley a smile. “Come, dear, let us eat.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Crowley said, taking the razor and putting it down with the mirror. Aziraphale went to the table and had a seat, and Crowley followed him, sitting across from him. Aziraphale smiled at him when he sat, and lifted the dome off the tray. “Ah,” he said, delighted. “Blueberry today.”

He was pleased when Crowley reached for a scone without being prompted and prepared it. Aziraphale prepared his own scone and took his first bite. He didn’t miss Crowley’s little reaction when he made a noise of appreciation, and it further encouraged him. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, dear. How are you fitting in below stairs?”

Crowley swallowed his bite of scone. “Very well, Your Grace. I think.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Yes, Your Grace. I don’t know of any problems with anyone.”

“Well, every report I’ve had has been glowing. Everyone I’ve spoken with seems to like you.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Your Grace.”

“In fact, I had a talk with Shadwell about you. He inquired about you from your past employers, primarily Sandridge.”

Crowley looked surprised. “He did?”

“Yes. And he learned quite a bit about you.”

“I hope my former coworkers were kind.”

“They were, very. He spoke with a Mr. Bishop, and said that he only had nice things to say about you.”

“That’s a great relief, Your Grace.”

“He did report that Mr. Bishop said that you had a penchant for mischief, particularly when you were younger.”

Crowley’s cheeks heated. “I did, Your Grace.”

“That you played pranks.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Small ones.”

“I’d love to hear about some of them, if you’re willing to share.”

Crowley looked surprised again. “You would?”

“Oh, yes. I’d very much like to hear amusing stories of your life. Or any stories, really.”

“I’ll try to think of something for you for another day, Your Grace.”

“That would be delightful. But back to your life here - is there anything I can do to help you fit in better?”

“I - I don't think so, Your Grace. But I thank you.”

“Well, you just let me know if you think of anything.”

“I will, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale took another bite of his scone, then said, “That reminds me of something. Something I’ve been meaning to ask you to do.”

“What is it, Your Grace?”

“I’d very much like you to use my Christian name. Aziraphale.”

Crowley was wide-eyed. “I’m sorry, Your Grace?”

“Yes. I’d like for you to refer to me by my name, if you’re willing.”

“I - I don’t understand.”

“I know it’s irregular, but it would make me most happy if you would drop my title and call me Aziraphale.”

Crowley still looked shocked. “Ngk.”

“Are you alright, dear?”

“I’m fine. Are you serious, Your Grace?”

“I’m quite serious, but none of that Your Grace business,” Aziraphale said with a smile. “I’d prefer if you just called me Aziraphale.” Crowley opened his mouth to protest again, and Aziraphale waved his hand to stop him before he did. “Please, dear. I’d consider it a personal favor.”

Crowley looked terrified now, but nodded, still wide-eyed. “Whatever you’d like, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Oh, I do like the sound of that. I love the way you say my name. Thank you, dear.”

“You’re welcome, Your--” He caught himself just in time. 

Aziraphale grinned at him until he smiled back uncertainly, then they went back to their scones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes:
> 
> 1) this fic is complete! It’s going to be 20 chapters and a short epilogue, which will be posted in April.   
> 2) thank you SO MUCH for your comments and kudos. They mean more to me than I can tell you.   
> 3) Check out this amazing playlist by kelark59!! 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4vhY6hnhVnewDbEX8s0xJ5?si=uYd6JccUTQKU-MjkRMdu4Q


	5. Chapter 5

Michael was chattering away over dinner, and Aziraphale was doing his best to pay attention. She’d invited herself over tonight for them ‘to plan the Season’, and Aziraphale had strongly considered sending back a message that he was sick with some sort of mysterious ailment. But she’d never believe that, and, knowing his sister, she might have just brought herself over to his house anyway and barged right into his room. He wouldn’t put it past her, certainly. So with a great deal of reluctance, he’d agreed to dine tonight. 

He’d hoped she’d bring her husband, Thomas, the Earl, since he tended to temper her and be able to rein her in. But Thomas had had a prior engagement, so Aziraphale was stuck with his sister for the evening. He was counting the minutes until she left.

“Oh, by the way, Aziraphale, what do you think of your new valet?”

Aziraphale felt himself light up inside, the way he always did when he thought of Crowley, and hoped he managed to keep his smile small and not revealing of his true thoughts.

“He’s very good,” Aziraphale said as diplomatically as he was able. “I’ve enjoyed working with him. I suppose I should thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said with an airy wave. “Now, back to the matter at hand. I’ve prepared a list of the social engagements I want you to attend this Season. It’s complete for the next three months. After that, we’ll reconvene to plan the following months.”

“It sounds as if you don't need my input,” he said, a bit terse. 

“Don’t get snippy with me.”

“I’m not getting snippy,” Aziraphale said, trying not to sigh. “I’m just tired of my life being dictated by my older sister. I’m thirty-seven, you know.”

“Exactly. You’re thirty-seven and have yet to marry. It’s unacceptable, Aziraphale, and it’s frankly embarrassing.”

“I just prefer the bachelor lifestyle,” he lied. 

“Well, your preferences don’t enter into it anymore. You _need_ a duchess and you _need_ an heir.”

“I’m perfectly happy for my title to be passed to some cousin upon my death. What will I care? I’ll be dead.”

“Don’t even talk like that,” she snapped. “You’re not going to die for many years, and you’re going to have an heir when you do. I won’t hear of anything else.”

“Michael --”

“No, Aziraphale. The subject of whether you are going to marry or not is closed. You _are_ going to marry, and I intend to see you happily wed by the end of the Season.”

“I have absolutely no intention to marry at any time, much less in the next few months.”

“I wasn’t asking you your intentions, brother. I was telling you how it is.”

Aziraphale gritted his teeth, trying to refrain from throwing her out. If he wasn’t so intimidated by her, he would. “You can’t force me into marriage.”

“I think we both know that I can. All it would take would be to get you into a compromising position with a young lady. You’d _have_ to marry her.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Aziraphale breathed, horrified by the very thought.

Michael’s eyes flashed. “Try me, baby brother. That’s how serious I am. You’d never let a young woman’s reputation be ruined to save yourself and I know it. I’m not above weaponizing that. It’s the perfect solution, if I do say so myself.”

Aziraphale glared at her, glarefully. 

“But I don’t want to do that to you,” she said with a false smile. “I’d much prefer you to be reasonable about this. All I want is your happiness.”

“I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is.”

“But you’ll be so much _happier_ when you’re settled down. Now, enough of that. I have a list of the invitations I want you to accept for the next twelve weeks,” she said, pulling out three sheets of paper and handing them to Aziraphale. 

He took the papers and looked at them. “There must be seventy events on here!”

“Seventy-seven, actually.”

“That’s too much, Michael. I’ll go mad.”

“Oh, you won’t.”

“I’ll agree to attend two events per week. That’s it. I simply will not agree to more.”

“Four events per week,” she bargained. 

“No. Two. I’ll concede to maybe attending three on some rare weeks, but I won’t commit to that.”

She pursed her lips at him. “Alright, fine. Two per week on even weeks, and three per week on odd weeks.”

That’s not at all what Aziraphale had agreed to, but he didn't argue. Perhaps he’d come down with headaches.

“Hopefully these are not all balls and raucous parties,” he said, looking over the extensive list. 

“Oh, no, although there are a fair amount of balls on there. There are at least three per week, but you don’t have to attend all of them, as we agreed. There are other entertainments: dinner parties, musicales, plays. Things like that.”

“I suppose you’ve chosen the events where there are most likely to be eligible young women,” he said dryly, feeling a sinking in his stomach. 

“Of course. It seems to be a very nice crop of young women this year. I’ve even been talking you up to one such woman and her family.”

“I simply refuse to let you dictate who I marry,” he bristled. 

“Won’t you let me tell you about her?”

“There is nothing you could say that would pique my interest,” he snarked. 

“But I really do think you’ll like her, Aziraphale. She’s exceptionally lovely, and perfectly eligible. The daughter of Roger Device, Earl of Jasmine. Do you know him?”

“I know the name.”

“Well, his only daughter, Anathema, is making her debut this year and she’s just your type.”

Aziraphale snorted to himself. There wasn’t a woman alive who was ‘just his type’, but of course he couldn’t say that to his sister. 

So instead, he said, “What, pray tell, makes you think so?”

“Well, apart from being exceptionally beautiful and well-spoken, she’s also a bluestocking. According to her parents, she spends nearly all her time reading - if she’s not out at the stables tending her horses. But she’s very well educated, which I know will appeal to you.”

“It might,” Aziraphale conceded. And in truth, that was the exact type of woman he’d be interested in - if he were interested in women.

“Her debut ball is in three weeks and she’s widely expected to be married by the end of the season. She’s a prime catch, so you’ll do well to snatch her up.”

“The other eligible gentlemen can have her,” Aziraphale said, irritated again. 

Michael narrowed her eyes at him. “You _will_ at least give this woman a chance, Aziraphale Fell. You _will_ meet her and talk to her and dance with her. Because if you don’t, I am not above ruining a reputation to see you married. I will not rest until you’re legally married to an acceptable young lady. Am I clear?”

Aziraphale fumed, his mood growing more and more black, but he gave a slow nod. “You’re clear.”

“Very good. Now, Lady Anathema is my favorite, by far, but let’s talk about some of the _other_ young women you’ll be meeting over the next few weeks…”

~*~O~*~

Below stairs, Crowley was sitting at the long table in the common area, playing cards with some of the other staff. But he was barely paying attention to the conversation, and his thoughts were full of the Duke. Aziraphale.

There had been a shift in their time together over the last week or so, since Aziraphale had asked him to use his name. Aziraphale was much more likely to ask for Crowley’s help dressing and undressing, and they’d taken breakfast together nearly every morning. On the occasions that Crowley had slipped up and referred to him as ‘Your Grace’, Aziraphale had gently reminded him that he preferred to be called ‘Aziraphale’. He’d also asked lots of interested questions about Crowley’s life, drawing him out into conversation. It was unlike anything Crowley had ever experienced - he seemed to want to be Crowley’s _friend_ , and Crowley didn’t know what to do with it. He certainly didn't dare tell any of the other staff, worried about what they would think, and he’d laid awake several nights, just trying to figure out what he could do, what he _should_ do. The only solution he’d been able to come up with was to give Aziraphale what he seemed to want - a friendship. Crowley was guarded, though, well aware that Aziraphale was his master and held his fate in his hands. He needed to be careful. 

But Aziraphale also held Crowley’s _heart_ in his hands, and he _really_ had no idea what to do about that. The attraction he felt, the crush that he’d hoped was fleeting, had grown and grown until Crowley was now certain that he was in love with Aziraphale. And why wouldn't he be? Aziraphale was the most lovely man he’d ever laid eyes on. He was kind, he was intelligent, he was funny. He didn’t just look like an angel, he acted like one, too. Crowley had never felt anything like the way he felt now. He’d thought he’d been in love before, in his youth, but that feeling had nothing on this. It seemed that Aziraphale was all he could think about, night and day. He woke up excited every morning, eager to go wake Aziraphale, to dress him and spend time with him. He went to bed each night with his heart full of the memory of Aziraphale’s attention and smiles. And Aziraphale gave him _lots_ of attention and smiles. In another man, he might have believed that his attraction was reciprocated, but that was utterly unbelievable with Aziraphale. It just couldn’t be true. 

But still - Crowley lived for the days where Aziraphale asked him to help dress and undress him. He felt a thrill all over his body with each time his skin brushed against the angel’s, and he was secretly, privately going out of his way to try to touch him. Not much, not enough to be noticed, but enough to fuel his fantasies. Then he’d return to his bedroom at night and chase pleasure in his fist, thinking of what it would be like to touch Aziraphale properly, to feel him, to caress him. Crowley could barely process the thought, and did his best not to think about it much during the day. But it wasn’t easy. Aziraphale was all he could think about. 

There was laughter at the table, catching his attention, and although he had no idea what had been funny, he gave a weak laugh to fit in. But he resolved to get his head out of the clouds and pay better attention, lest someone saw him woolgathering and started asking questions that would necessitate a lie. 

“It's like this every year,” Beezle was saying. “Every single year, the same thing happens.”

“Yes, but I’ve heard from the Countess’ staff that she’s serious this time. She’s determined to see him married by the end of the Season, by any means necessary,” Hastur said. 

“She might have to hold a gun to his head to get him to agree to that,” Beezle scoffed. “And even then, he’d likely refuse.”

“Why would he refuse?” Crowley asked, suddenly curious. 

There were a couple of scoffs from the staff gathered there. “It would take a miracle for His Grace to agree to marry some debutante,” Ligur said. 

“Yeah, it would take truly exceptional circumstances.”

“Like, he’d have to compromise her?” Crowley asked.

They laughed. “There’s no chance of that,” Hastur said.

“But, why not?”

The other three at the table sobered and all looked at each other. Crowley felt his heart speed up a bit, looking from one to the other, feeling as if he’d said something very wrong, but not sure how to retract it. Finally, Ligur spoke. 

“His Grace has no interest in women, Crowley. He prefers men.”

Crowley felt his jaw drop and his eyes go wide. “He _what_?”

“His Grace prefers the company of men. He never wants to marry a woman.”

Crowley just sat there, agog, utterly shocked. Aziraphale, that angel, was gay?

“Is that true?”

Beezle leaned across the table towards Crowley, her beetle-black eyes glinting maliciously. “Yes. It’s true. Now listen here, Crowley, and listen good. If you repeat that to anyone outside of this house, if you try to damage his reputation or get him killed, every last one of us will testify under oath that you’re a liar. You’ll never work again. And on top of that, we’ll kick your arse. Do you understand?”

Crowley glanced around the rest of the table. Everyone had a fierce, almost eager look on their face, and Crowley nodded vigorously. “I do. I understand. His secret is safe with me.”

“It had damned well better be,” Bee said, and Crowley swallowed hard.

“What’s going on in here?” Tracy asked, stepping into the common room with a basket of something that smelled delicious. 

“We were just telling Crowley about His Grace’s aversion to women,” Hastur said. 

“And warning him to keep his mouth shut,” Ligur added menacingly. 

“Oh, Crowley would never, would you, dear?” Tracy pooh-poohed. “There’s no need to threaten him.”

“I just hope we got our point across,” Beezle said. “We’ll do anything to protect the Duke.”

“You have absolutely nothing to fear from me,” Crowley said earnestly. 

“Of course we don't, dear,” Tracy said, patting his shoulder. “Nobody here _really_ thinks we do. Do you?” she asked, challenging the other three. They all muttered and wouldn't meet her eye. “That’s what I thought,” she said, sounding smug. 

Just then, Shadwell came below stairs and had a look around. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing of any importance, Mr. S,” Tracy said easily. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Fine. We don’t have time to chat anyway. Crowley, His Grace is ready to retire a bit early tonight and was asking for you. You’d best go, he’s in a bit of a mood after spending the evening with his sister.”

“Yes, Mr. Shadwell,” Crowley said and got to his feet quickly, leaving the common area without looking back. As soon as he was out of the area, he paused for a moment to take a breath and let his thoughts settle a bit. 

Aziraphale was _gay_? Crowley couldn’t believe it. Perhaps they were having him on. But no, staff would never joke about their master like that. He supposed it made a weird kind of sense, now that he thought about it. The Countess has mentioned ‘unnatural proclivities’ but Crowley hadn’t known what that meant and had just brushed it off at the time. Once he’d arrived and gotten to know Aziraphale a bit, he’d assumed she’d meant his bookish nature was unnatural. Not that he was _gay_. 

But what did that _mean_? Nothing, really. He was still Crowley’s master and nothing would change that fact. Just because he was interested in men didn’t mean he was interested in Crowley. In fact, the very idea was laughable. Crowley was so far below him on the social ladder - he was literally a servant! He couldn’t get much lower than that! Aziraphale was beautiful and kind and an angel. What appeal would a besotted servant have? None at all, that’s how much.

Crowley arrived at the door to Aziraphale’s chamber and knocked on it, then pushed it open. 

“Is that you, Crowley?”

Crowley made sure the door was closed behind him before he spoke. He didn't want anyone to overhear him being so casual in the way he spoke to Aziraphale. 

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Oh thank _God_. I need a friendly face tonight in the _worst_ way.”

He went to kneel in front of the chair Aziraphale was sitting in and started to take off his boots. “What happened? Is everything alright?”

Aziraphale sighed. “No, it’s not, but it’s much better now that you’re here, dear.”

Crowely practically glowed under the praise, but pushed it aside. “Would you care to tell me about it? I’m happy to listen,” he said as he pulled off the second boot and laid it out to the side, then got to his feet. 

Aziraphale also got to his feet. “It’s my sister. She’s so…. so… _infuriating_.”

“I take it your evening didn't go very well?”

“Not remotely, not for me, but it was a _smashing_ success for her,” he said bitterly. “I just hate that there has to be winners and losers at all when we see each other, and I _especially_ hate that I always come up the loser.”

Crowley worked the buttons of his waistcoat quickly. “What did she do?”

“She _threatened_ me. Can you believe it?”

“How did she threaten you?”

“She said that if I didn’t find a suitable wife this season, she’ll manufacture a compromising scandal to force me to marry some young woman. Oh, I’m so angry I could just _spit._ ”

“Do you really think she’ll do it?”

“Yes, I do,” Aziraphale said, removing his waistcoat and holding it out, retreating behind the screen. Apparently, he was going to undress himself tonight, and Crowley felt a pang of disappointment. But he took his place by the screen to receive the dirty clothes. 

“Does she have a young lady in mind?” Crowley asked, taking the shirt. 

“Apparently she does. Lady Anathema Device.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know her, Your - Aziraphale.”

“She’s the daughter of an Earl, and apparently, she’s ‘just my type’,” he said mockingly. “Michael was most insistent that she was ‘perfect’, meant just for me. I think she’s already planning a wedding, but I haven’t even laid eyes on the girl!”

“Do you think she’d make the perfect wife?” Crowley asked, taking the trousers and, as always, trying to repress the thoughts of Aziraphale behind the screen, naked. 

“I don’t want _any_ wife,” Aziraphale said, slightly muffled as he dressed. “I have no desire to marry any of them.”

That certainly seemed to confirm what the staff had said, but Crowley had no idea how to respond to it. 

“You could have a marriage of convenience,” he tried. “Lots of people do it. You’d never even have to see each other if you didn't want to.”

“But I’d have to get an heir _somewhere_ ,” Aziraphale rebutted.

That was true, and Crowley had _no_ response to that.

“Surely there must be a way to avoid matrimony if you don’t want a wife…” Crowley said.

Aziraphale sighed from behind the screen, then emerged, wearing his night clothes. As Crowley always did, he gave him as bold a look as he dared, taking in the sight of the V of skin on his chest and his bare ankles. He returned his gaze to Aziraphale’s face, his eyes drawn to the soft, pink lips, and his heart stuttered in his chest. 

“I don’t see a way around it, but I’ve got a while yet to come up with something. If worse comes to worst, I’ll just leave the country for a while. Maybe a long while,” he said. 

All Crowley could think of was to beg Aziraphale to take him along. 

Aziraphale smiled at him, and the thing inside Crowley’s chest sighed in contentment. 

“Thank you so much, dear. I’m so grateful you’re in my corner.”

“You’re welcome, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiled brighter. “I do so love to hear you say my name. It just sounds better from your lips somehow.”

Crowley felt himself blush. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Aziraphale smiled at him fondly for a moment, making Crowley glow with happiness, then glanced towards his bed. “I think I’m going to read in bed for a little while tonight. Will you join me for breakfast tomorrow?”

“I’ll be happy to,” Crowley said, feeling a thrill. 

“Oh, good. That will give me something to look forward to. I hope you sleep well tonight, Crowley, and thank you for being such a good friend to me. I feel sure I can handle anything that comes at me with you by my side.”

“I’ll always be here,” Crowley said, just barely biting back the ‘angel’ that wanted to escape. 

“That’s what I’m hoping for. Goodnight, dear,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley gave a deferential bow and said ‘goodnight’, then gathered the worn clothes and left, going to finish his duties and retire to his bed, thinking of Aziraphale again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When copying/pasting this chapter, I highlighted everything and accidentally clicked 'cut' instead of 'paste'. So if you need me, I'll just be sitting over here recovering from a minor cardiac event. Thank you baby Jesus for the undo button.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be a little slow to answer comments this chapter. We’re in the middle of an ice storm abd are anticipating losing power.
> 
> My American readers - I hope you guys are safe and warm!!

It was well known that Aziraphale attended his club on Thursday afternoons like clockwork, and more often than not, Fergus would join him. On this particular Thursday, though, Aziraphale didn't want to take the chance that Fergus might not show up. So that morning, he had penned a little note asking his best friend to meet him at the club, and rested a little easier when he'd gotten an affirmative reply. After lunch, he’d gathered himself and gone to the club, sitting in the library to wait for Fergus. 

He was reading a tome of poetry when he heard someone say his name. He looked up hopefully, expecting to see Fergus, only to find Gabriel approaching, a broad smile on his handsome face. 

“Aziraphale! Good to see you.”

“Yes, it’s good to see you, too,” Aziraphale said, not getting to his feet. 

“How have you been? I feel like it’s been a while.”

“It has been. We haven’t really spoken for a couple of months,” he allowed. 

“We haven’t spoken - or done anything else,” Gabriel said in a low voice, with a smile that was simply devastating, coming to sit in the chair across from Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat a bit. “No, we haven’t.”

Gabriel looked around the library to see if they were alone. “I’ve missed you, sunshine.”

He had no idea what to say to that. He couldn’t honestly say the same, so he gave a little smile and said, “You have?”

“I have. I’d like to see you sometime. Sometime soon.”

“You’re seeing me now,” Aziraphale pointed out. 

Gabriel’s violet eyes twinkled. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, and put a hand on Aziraphale’s knee. “Would you like to slip off?”

Aziraphale looked down at the hand, not speaking right away. A month or two ago, it would have been a very tempting offer. He’d rarely ever said no when Gabriel propositioned him. But now, the thought of this man touching him - of him touching _Gabriel_ \- made him feel cold. He wanted to touch and be touched by Crowley, and no one else.

“That’s very tempting,” Aziraphale lied. “But I’m waiting for Fergus. He and I have an appointment today.”

“Are you sure?” Gabriel asked, sliding his thumb across Aziraphale’s knee, making his skin crawl.

Aziraphale gave a tight smile. “I’m quite sure. Fergus would be cross if I were to ask to meet him then slip off and abandon him.”

“You’re right, I would be,” Aziraphale heard from behind him, and turned around to see Fergus standing there, looking irritated. Aziraphale got to his feet to greet him and Gabriel followed suit. 

“Prentice,” Gabriel said, but didn't offer his hand. 

“Weatherton,” Fergus said, his eyes flinty. 

“I’ll just leave you to your appointment,” Gabriel said with a smarmy smile. Then he turned to Aziraphale. “Think about what I said, won’t you? Sometime soon.”

“I’ll see you later, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said as politely as he could, giving another tight smile. 

Gabriel grinned, then waltzed off, leaving him alone with Fergus. Aziraphale took a deep breath, then turned to smile at his best friend. 

“Fergus. Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” Fergus said, still looking agitated. Aziraphale gestured for him to sit down, and Fergus did. Aziraphale poured him a glass of scotch and handed it over.

“I hate that bastard,” Fergus said after he’d taken a sip. 

“I know you do, dear.”

“What did he want?”

“To arrange a rendezvous.”

“I certainly hope you said no.”

“I did.”

“Good. Now you just have to keep telling him no in the future.”

Aziraphale sighed a little. That was his plan, certainly, since he didn’t want anyone but Crowley, but he didn't care for Fergus being so bossy. Still, it was coming from a place of concern, and he tried to accept it with good grace. 

Fergus took another swallow of his scotch. “Enough about him. Why did you want to meet today?”

“I needed an ear to bend.”

“About what?”

“About several things.”

“Well, I’m all ears. Tell me what’s been going on.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and fortifying sip of his own scotch. “Well, I suppose I should start with Michael.”

“What’s she done now?”

“She came to my home on Monday for dinner and told me that if I didn't select a woman to marry by the end of the season, she’s going to concoct a compromising situation for me and a young lady and force me into marrying her.”

Fergus looked considering. “You know, from anyone else, that would be shocking, but coming from your sister, the only shocking thing is that it took her so long to think of it. She’s diabolical enough to do it, isn’t she?”

“Yes, quite. I have no doubt that she will do exactly that.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t see any way out of it, unless I’m to leave the country.”

“You could, but that would only be a temporary measure. You’d have to come back often to tend to business and she could entrap you then.”

“I know,” he said morosely. 

Fergus looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I know you don’t want this. But you can always neglect any wife you take.”

“I’d have to get an heir from somewhere,” he pointed out. 

“You could give the impression that you’re trying and failing. There’s no shame in that.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I know that. I do. I just… I don’t want to be forced into a marriage I don’t want. Even if the young woman she's proposing does seem ideal.”

“Who is it?’

“Lady Anathema Device.”

“Oh, I know her. She’s friends with Ella.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. If you liked women at all, she would be perfect for you. You’re very much alike.”

“That’s what Michael said.”

“I hate to think of your sister seeking to ruin her.”

“I do, too. It’s most unfair.”

“But marriage to her wouldn’t be the end of the world, Aziraphale. You could do what you had to to secure an heir, then live as friends. I really do think you’d enjoy her company.”

“I’m sure I would, but I have no desire to _touch_ her. And I resent that I’ll be forced to. There’s only one person I want to touch,” he added. 

“I hope you don’t mean Gabriel.”

“No, of course not.”

“You’re speaking of your valet?”

Aziraphale felt a thrill. “Crowley, yes.”

Fergus took another sip of his scotch. “Did you do what I told you?”

“Yes. I tempted him with money and jewelry and he returned it every time.”

“That’s good.”

“I tasked Shadwell with finding out all he could about him. The report was glowing. Sandridge’s staff had nothing but good things to say about him.”

“That’s even better.”

“I also asked Shadwell about my staff, and no one had any concerns.”

“Well, that’s as good of an answer as you’re likely to get.”

“I agree.”

“Did you find out the other? Whether or not he’s gay?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks colored a bit. “I asked Shadwell to find out if he’d left a sweetheart behind. He reported that there had been rumors that Crowley favored men.”

“That’s wonderful news!”

“Yes, I think so, too.”

“So what did you do? Did you flirt, like I told you?”

“I have been, to the best of my ability. I haven’t wanted to be overt, really.”

“Why not?”

“I - I don’t know why not. But I've been very subtle.”

“Do you still feel the same way about him you did a few weeks ago?”

“No, actually, I don’t. Before, I just fancied him. But now, I’m convinced I’m in love with him.”

Fergus grinned. “In love, you say?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Head over heels.”

“You’ve never been in love before.”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve never felt this way, and I don’t know what to do.”

“What’s tripping you up?”

“I think it’s what you mentioned before - the power imbalance. I want to kiss him and touch him, yes, but I want to do it because he wants to, not because he fears for his job. I want it to come from a place of genuine emotion. I _crave_ his love and affection.”

“Do you think he’s attracted to you, too?”

Aziraphale smiled shyly. “I think so, yes. But I can’t be sure, and I _have_ to be sure.”

“Yes, you do. Well, do you want advice? Is that why you asked me here?”

“Yes. There’s no one else I trust. Please, advise me.”

“Alright.” Fergus drained his glass and sat it down, then leaned forward on his knees. “The first thing you’ve got to do is make things as equal as they can possibly be, behind closed doors. You need to make it so that when you’re alone, it’s not a master/servant situation. It’s two men on equal footing.”

“I’ve asked him to call me by my name and to dispense with my title.”

“That’s a good start, but not enough. You need him to feel as comfortable as he possibly can. You need to truly be friends.”

“I don’t know how to do that while he’s still dressing and undressing me,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“It’s tricky and you won’t be able to do it a hundred percent. In fact, I’d have him dress you and undress you _more_ , but let that be the _only_ way he serves you when you’re alone.”

“So I should keep him dressing me?”

“Yes. That’s too good an opportunity for touching to pass up, when you’re trying to win his heart. But make everything else as equal as it can possibly be.”

“I’ll do my best,” Aziraphale said, trying to think of a way to accomplish that. “What else?”

“You have to stop being covert. You need to make your attraction to him as obvious as you can.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’m not saying you should seduce him. In fact, I’m suggesting the opposite. Make it clear you want him, then let him make the move to seduce _you._ It's absolutely vital that _he_ be the one to make the first move.”

“I should wait for him?

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the only way things will be equal between you. Otherwise, you’ll always be wondering if he was doing it out of attraction or obligation.”

The thought of Crowley touching him because he felt beholden to made his skin crawl. He absolutely did _not_ want that.

“So I should make my attraction obvious.”

“As obvious as you can without scaring him, yes. Give it a couple of weeks, gradually ramping up your effort, so it’s impossible to miss. Offer yourself up as bait. Then hold the line and wait. Unless you want to…”

“Unless I want to what?”

“After you flirt with him for a while, if you think he’s getting the message and he’s not acting, you could always just tell him you’re attracted to him.”

“I could never!” 

“You could, and you probably should. Lay it all out on the table and see what he does with it. Either he’ll choose you or he won’t. If he doesn’t, he’ll likely move on.”

Aziraphale didn't think he’d ever be able to get over it if Crowley left him, not with the way he felt, but he could see Fergus’ point. 

“Alright,” Aziraphale agreed. “I think I can do that.”

“Good. And you’ll keep me updated?”

“Yes, I certainly will.”

“Excellent. This is better than any novel.”

Aziraphale gave him a cross look, but Fergus laughed and Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh with him.

~*~O~*~

Crowley made his way up the grand staircase towards Aziraphale’s chambers, feeling his heart beat with excitement. That wasn’t unusual, he was _always_ excited to see Aziraphale, no matter what, but he especially liked mornings. In the morning, Aziraphale was often sleeping and a bit more relaxed - even more relaxed than usual - and they nearly always had breakfast together. In fact, they’d only _not_ had breakfast together three days over the last two weeks. It was dizzying to the smitten Crowley. 

He quietly opened the door to the chamber and made his way inside. Aziraphale was asleep, and as he’d taken to doing sometimes, Crowley took advantage of the time just to gaze at his angel. 

If he’d thought Aziraphale had looked like an angel before, when he was awake, that was nothing compared to how he looked when he slept. His face was relaxed, his eyelashes making little crescents on his beautiful cheeks, and his pink, plush lips parted with his breaths. 

Crowley loved him completely. 

For the millionth time, he wondered - could Aziraphale ever love him back? Aziraphale seemed interested in him, like he wanted to be the closest of friends - but was there more? Logically, Crowley thought not. There was the chance that Aziraphale might desire him physically, but there was no possibility that he had any real emotional attachment to Crowley. Not in the way Crowley hoped for. Crowley was in _love_ \- and wanted to be loved in return. In any other man, a commoner, he might have believed that Aziraphale’s attentions meant that his emotions were involved, but he couldn’t let himself believe that about Aziraphale. It was foolish. At most, if he was lucky, Aziraphale desired him physically. Crowley should be happy with that. 

He’d often wondered over the last several days, since he’d found out Aziraphale was gay, what he’d do if the angel propositioned him. He’d almost be forced to accept, or else he could be out of a job. And in truth, he’d _want_ to accept. But he craved more than just sex. He longed to be held, to be kissed, to be touched. He wanted to be loved. 

In his most brazen daydreams, he thought about making a move on the Duke himself, but he never seriously entertained it. It was entirely too risky. If he’d misread the signals and Aziraphale wasn’t interested in him at all, he’d be dismissed without hope of a new job at best, and hanged at worst. If he were right and Aziraphale _did_ desire him physically, he’d still be in the lurch, emotionally, in love with a man he couldn’t properly have. That way lay madness, and he’d be best not to pursue it. 

No, it was probably best if things just stayed exactly the same between him and Aziraphale. He could pine in silence, and no one would ever be the wiser. Eventually he’d get over it - or he’d go mad. He’d give it a few more months, he decided. If he didn’t start to get over it, maybe he’d leave this job and try to find another. Perhaps after Aziraphale had married and the Countess no longer needed him as a spy, he could return to her household as a footman or something. It was a dim hope, but something to think about. 

His stomach churned when he thought about the letters he was being forced to send. He’d revealed almost no useful information to the countess, and her return letters were getting tetchy. Still, Crowley had started to hope that if he were honest with Aziraphale about what was happening, that Aziraphale might have mercy on him, that he might not fire him, or might at least help him gain employment in another house. He couldn’t be entirely sure, but he was growing in confidence slowly. Eventually he knew he’d have to confess to Aziraphale what he was being forced to do. He simultaneously hoped it would be soon and ages away. 

Aziraphale stirred in his sleep, making a little sound, and it motivated Crowley to action. He hurried about doing his duties, making sure the fire was burning, putting Aziraphale’s clothes on the horse, and finally going to the windows and drawing open the curtains, letting in the light. 

By the time he’d finished with the last window, he heard yawning from behind him and turned to see Aziraphale sitting up in bed. There were pillow wrinkles on his face and his hair was a mess, but Crowley found him to be the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, and his heart clutched in his chest. 

“Good morning, Aziraphale,” he said, going to fetch the dressing gown from the foot of the bed. 

Aziraphale yawned and stretched. “Good morning to you, my dear. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, I hope you did as well?”

“Oh, yes. I slept quite well,” Aziraphale said with a smile, turning his back so Crowley could slip the dressing gown on his shoulders. He let his fingers linger, feeling a thrill when he did and a thickening in his trousers, but schooled his face not to reveal anything when Aziraphale turned around. 

“Are my clothes ready for me?”

“Yes, in their usual place.”

“Very good. Will you let the staff know I’d like to take breakfast in here this morning?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Splendid,” Aziraphale said, then disappeared behind the screen. Crowley ducked out into the corridor to flag down a maid and relay the message to the kitchen, then came back to Aziraphale’s chamber, shutting the door behind himself. 

“Is that you, Crowley?”

“It’s me,” he replied, just barely biting back the ‘angel’ that wanted to escape. It was getting harder and harder to do. 

Aziraphale stepped out from behind the screen in his hose and breeches with his shirt on and open, exposing his chest. Crowley’s eyes were drawn to all the bare skin, and he couldn't help but ogle. Oh, he was so fucking _beautiful_ , with dark blond hair scattered across his broad chest, and Crowley felt himself twitch in his trousers again. 

“Would you help me this morning, dear?” Aziraphale asked, snapping Crowley’s attention from his body. 

Crowley swallowed and nodded, then stepped forward to get to work on his buttons. He couldn’t help but touch him a little, and every single touch sent a jolt right through his fingertips up to his brain. Crowley wanted nothing more than to touch him properly. 

Aziraphale was looking at him as he worked, and God above, he looked _hungry_. There was _heat_ in his eyes, and Crowley nearly fainted. He felt his cock harden further, and begged it silently not to shame him. 

After a few seconds (that seemed like six thousand years), Crowley finished buttoning shirt and waistcoat and went to the dressing table to prepare the shaving materials. He poured a tiny bit of water into the bowl and started beating the bar with the brush, making foam.

Aziraphale chuckled and Crowley looked up at him, still beating the bar to make the foam. “What’s so funny?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound impertinent. 

“Nothing, really. I’m just amused by the face you make when you’re doing that. Your tongue protrudes a bit. It’s quite adorable.”

Crowley’s heart stuttered in his chest. Adorable?

“Thank you. I think.”

“Oh, it was definitely a compliment. And it’s not that you’re not adorable all the time. You are, you know.”

Crowley was afraid he would faint. “I’ve never been called adorable before.”

“Well, that’s an oversight on the part of quite a lot of people. You are adorable. Among other things.”

It sprung to his lips to ask ‘What other things?’ but he managed not to make a fool of himself. Barely. 

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Would you like me to shave you today?” He was unsure what answer he was hoping for.

“Not today, but maybe soon,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley a thrill. “Will you hold the mirror?”

“Of course,” Crowley said, setting the bowl down and grabbing the mirror. 

Aziraphale put foam on his face and picked up the razor, beginning to shave. Crowley watched his every move, entranced, knowing he was staring but unable to help himself. He was just so _gorgeous_ and Crowley loved him so fucking much.

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” Aziraphale said as he shaved. 

“About what, Your - Aziraphale?”

“About the way you speak to me.”

Crowley felt his heart speed up unpleasantly. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“You’re doing exactly as I asked you, and you’re calling me by my name, but you’re still too formal with me. I can hear the ghost of my title in everything you say.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I want you to _relax_ , Crowley. Let your hair down with me. I want for you and I to be as close as you’re comfortable with, and I’d very much like you to see me as an equal.”

Crowley’s mouth worked soundlessly, not sure what to say, and Aziraphale smiled kindly at him. 

“It will take some practice, I’m sure, but over time, I want you to treat me just as you would any other man when we’re alone. I’d like you to joke with me, to tell me about your day. I’d like for there to be no secrets between us. If you think I’m wrong about something, I’d like you to _tell me_ you think I’m wrong, with no fear of reprisals.”

“I’m not sure I’m capable of that, Aziraphale.”

“It will take some practice, as I said. But I’m confident you’ll come around,” Aziraphale said, finishing his chin and cleaning the razor. Then he looked at Crowley and _smiled_ and bloody hell, there was nothing Crowley wouldn’t do for that smile. 

“I’ll - I’ll try.”

Aziraphale’s smile grew and Crowley felt like he’d been hit in the chest. “That’s music to my ears, darling.”

 _Darling._ He’d called him ‘darling’. Crowley could have fainted. 

There was a knock at the door and Emily came in, carrying the breakfast tray. 

“Oh, good,” Aziraphale said. “Thank you, Emily.”

The young maid nodded and put the tray on a table, then retreated. Crowley waited until she had gone, then turned his attention back to Aziraphale, who was wiping his face clean of the foam. 

“How do I look?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

“Beautiful,” Crowley blurted, then flushed to the roots of his hair. 

Aziraphale’s smile grew until it overtook his face. “That’s good to hear. Are you ready to eat?”

“Yes,” he said, then he remembered what Aziraphale had just said. _Treat him as an equal, as a friend._ Crowley gave him a smile. “I’m famished.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Let’s eat.”

Crowley put the mirror down on the dressing table and followed Aziraphale to the breakfast table, taking his usual seat. Aziraphale raised the dome to reveal the breakfast - blueberry scones today - and sat it to the side. 

“Bon appetit,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley gave him an unsure smile before he picked up a scone and prepared it while Aziraphale did the same. He braced himself for Aziraphale to take his first bite, but the sound still hit him like a punch to the chest, and he felt his cock swell again. Jesus. There was nothing he wouldn’t give to hear him make that sound in bed, nothing at all.

“So tell me more about growing up in the kitchens. I’ve heard tell of little pranks you played.”

“I did sometimes, yes.”

“Tell me about some of them.”

Crowley swallowed his bite of scone. “I was most fond of switching the labels in the pantry, like between the raisins and walnuts.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll bet the cook loved that.”

Crowley gave him a smile. “She liked to box my ears - if she could catch me. I was much faster than her.”

“She abused you?” Aziraphale asked, looking angry all of the sudden.

“No, no,” he soothed the angel. “Not at all. I was just a rascal. Most often, I was sent to bed without supper. But she _did_ box my ears for the snake thing.”

“What snake thing?”

Crowley smiled again at the memory. “One time, I caught a little grass snake in the garden. I played with it for a while, then had the bright idea to turn myself into a hero.”

Aziraphale was grinning. “What did you do?”

“I released it into the kitchens and waited until someone noticed, prepared to catch it again. But I wasn’t expecting quite the uproar it made.”

“Oh, no. Screaming women and thrown pots?”

“Yes, exactly. The footmen were trying to find it, but they were big and clumsy, so I swooped in and saved the day.” Crowley laughed, remembering.

“My goodness,” Aziraphale said, his face soft. 

“What?”

“You’re simply lovely when you laugh.”

Crowley flushed beet red, smiling, ducking his head, completely pleased. Aziraphale gave him a fond look for a moment, then cleared his throat and said, “I’m sorry, dear, I interrupted. You found the snake, like the hero you are?”

“Um, yeah. I did. And I released it into the garden. For a whole four hours, I was quite the hero. Then one of the maids told the cook that she’d seen me playing with the snake _before_ it got into the kitchens, and the cook figured me out. I got my ears boxed and ran to hide in the conservatory until bedtime.”

“The conservatory? Why the conservatory?”

“It was always my favorite place in the house. When I couldn’t be outside in the garden, I was in the conservatory, bugging the gardener.”

Aziraphale looked surprised. “You like plants?”

“I love them.”

“Well, color me shocked. What is your favorite flower?”

“I think I like snapdragons best, but it’s hard to beat the beauty of a well-grown rose.”

“They’re both beautiful flowers. They suit you,” Aziraphale said with a warm look, and Crowley flushed again. “Have you been to my conservatory?”

“I have. I hope that’s alright. It’s beautiful, with some of the most stunning flowers I’ve ever seen. And Brother Francis has been very patient with me.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He looked pensive for a moment, then said, “Have you ever been to the gardens of Abbadon Palace?”

“No, I never have, although I hear they’re beautiful.”

“They are, yes, but I feel like I’ve never really appreciated them the way I should. Would you like to go sometime?”

Crowley grinned sadly. “I’d love to, but I’m not allowed. Only the gentry and upper middle class are permitted to visit.”

“I’m allowed to bring a guest of my choosing.”

He blinked at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, quite. It might be a bit irregular but, well, I’m a Duke. Who’s going to tell me no? So I ask you again, would you like to go with me to Abbadon Palace to see the gardens?”

Crowley was stunned, and didn’t know what to say. He just stared blankly for a minute, until he’d gotten some semblance of control over himself. “Yeah, no. I mean yes. I’d like that, angel.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Angel. You called me angel.”

Crowley blanched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -”

“No, stop. I liked it. It makes me feel… special. In fact, I’d like for you to call me that more, if you’re so inclined. I’ve never had a pet name before.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes. I’d like it if you called me that a hundred times a day.”

Crowley grinned, a little uncertain, but pleased. “I think I can accommodate that. Angel.”

Aziraphale practically glowed, and Crowley felt like more of a hero in that moment than he ever had when he was nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re going on a date!!


	7. Chapter 7

Aziraphale had never visited his conservatory much. He liked it well enough, he supposed, but he much preferred the books in his library to plants and soil. He kept it up, though, in memory of his mother, who had spent many long, happy hours in the conservatory, cultivating. She loved fresh flowers, and had especially liked growing them. Aziraphale rather liked having the fresh flowers around, too, and he had warm memories of his mother with dirt-streaked dresses, so he’d kept the conservatory up. Now, with the knowledge that Crowley liked flowers, he was glad he had. 

The air was hot, humid, and fragrant when he opened the door and stepped in, and he took a deep, appreciative breath. 

“Who’s there?” called the gardener, Brother Francis, and he rounded the corner with a shifty look and a tool raised like a weapon. 

“It’s me, Brother Francis.”

“Oh! Your Grace!” Brother Francis said, lowering the tool and bowing at once. “I thought you were someone else.”

“No, it’s just me,” Aziraphale said lightly. 

“What can I do for you, Your Grace?”

“I was wondering if we had any snapdragons?”

“Snapdragons? Oh, yes, Your Grace. Right through here, if you’d like to follow me.”

He inclined his head with a smile and followed the old gardener into the greenhouse. They went down a little path until Brother Francis came to a stop by a riot of brightly-colored flowers. “Here you are, Your Grace,” he said, indicating the flowers to the right. 

Aziraphale looked them over, trying to decide which color Crowley would like. He had no idea what Crowley’s favorite color was, which seemed like an oversight on his part. He should know which color his love preferred. 

He debated for just a moment, then settled on red. Red was the color of love and passion, so he felt it appropriate. Perhaps for that reason, the red ones looked prettier to Aziraphale. With a smile, he turned to Brother Francis. 

“May I cut two?”

“They’re your plants, Your Grace,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his apron and pulling out a pair of cutters. “I’ll get right to it.”

“No, please, allow me,” Aziraphale said, stopping him and taking the cutters. “It’s more personal if I do it myself.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Brother Francis said, surrendering the clippers. 

Aziraphale accepted them and bent over, selecting the two prettiest ones and cutting them, then returning to stand with a smile. “There. That should work,” he said, pleased. 

“Can I do anything else for you, Your Grace?”

“No, thank you, Brother Francis. You’ve been a tremendous help, and the conservatory is stunning. Keep up the good work.”

Brother Francis gave him a toothy grin, and Aziraphale left to go about the next part of his plan. 

He found a maid in the corridor and spoke to her. “Excuse me, Bridget?”

“Oh! Yes, Your Grace?” she asked, sinking into a curtsey. 

“Would you happen to know if my valet is available?”

“He was just below stairs a few minutes ago, Your Grace, finishing up lunch.”

“Splendid. Would you ask him to come to my chambers at his convenience, please?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Bridget said with another curtsey. Aziraphale watched her go with a smile he couldn’t help, then hurried off to his chamber to wait for Crowley. 

While he waited, he pondered what he was about to do for the hundredth time. It was a bit of a risk, to take Crowley out on a _date_. There was no way to keep the staff from knowing, and he was sure they’d talk amongst themselves about it. But would that be the end of the world? He’d long suspected the staff knew who and what he was - although he’d had no confirmation until recently - yet there were no rumors about him that he knew of in the ton. So it seemed likely that they could be trusted, right? Honestly, his biggest concern was that they may treat Crowley unfairly if they knew that Aziraphale favored him. _That_ thought gave him pause, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He’d just have to keep an ear to the ground and make sure no one harassed him. Shadwell would be valuable in that regard, he suspected. 

Still, Aziraphale hoped he was doing the right thing. He was more and more sure with every passing day that Crowley was interested in him: he was touching Aziraphale more than was necessary to dress him, there were lots of heated, longing looks, and he’d seen evidence of erections when he’d looked. Aziraphale wanted to do what Fergus had instructed and leave no doubt of his feelings in Crowley’s mind, and he was doing everything he could think of, short of telling Crowley directly - which he wasn’t ruling out. But he hoped that all the wooing he was doing would persuade Crowley to make a move, and hopefully in the near future. Aziraphale thought he might go mad if he had to wait much longer. It felt as if there was a pressure building, and pleasant though it may be in some ways, Aziraphale desperately needed the release. 

There was a knock on the door and it opened. Aziraphale smiled when Crowley poked his head around the door, then came inside and closed it. 

“Are you alright, angel? Bridget said you needed me.”

Aziraphale felt his heart soar at the endearment, and he beamed. But he kept his hands hidden behind his back for now. 

“I’m quite alright, darling, I just wanted to see you.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine. Do you remember a couple of weeks ago when I asked you if you’d like to go to Abbadon Palace?”

“I do.”

“Well, I’ve made arrangements for us to go today, if you’d like.”

Crowley looked stunned. “You were serious?”

“Yes, quite serious. I’ve obtained an invitation for us, and the carriage is waiting out front, if you’re still interested in going.”

“Yeah, no, I mean, yes, I’d like to. I just… I don't quite know what to say.”

“Just say you’ll go with me, and let me see the beauty of the gardens through your amber eyes.”

Crowley’s cheeks heated. “Yeah, sure. Of course, angel.”

“Lovely. There’s one more thing, before we go…”

“Yes?”

Aziraphale brought his hands around to the front, revealing the snapdragons with a sheepish smile. 

Crowley’s eyes were wide, his face the picture of shock. “Are those for me?”

“One of them is, yes. I’m afraid I didn't know your favorite color. I had to guess.”

“You - you got it right. I like red.”

“Oh, very good,” Aziraphale grinned. Then he stepped over to the dressing table and picked up a jeweled pin. He pinned one of the snapdragons to his lapel, then picked up another jeweled pin and went back to Crowley, smiling. “May I?”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course.”

Aziraphale stepped closer, still smiling, and pinned the flower to Crowley’s lapel, enjoying the way he could hear Crowley breathe, seeing the flutter of his pulse in his throat, relishing the _smell_ of him. He barely stopped himself from kissing him, and wasn’t able to resist laying his hand over Crowley’s heart for just a moment, before he stepped back to a more respectable distance. Crowley was looking at the flower pinned to his lapel, still appearing stunned, then looked up at Aziraphale. Aziraphale smiled brightly. 

“Do you like it, dear?”

Crowley nodded. “I do. It's just… no one has ever given me a flower before.”

“That’s a shame. Maybe if you’re willing, I can give you flowers on a regular basis.” 

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I’d like that, angel.”

Aziraphale wanted to kiss him so badly, he could hardly stand it. “Very good. I look forward to that. Now, are we ready? Our carriage awaits.”

“Yes. Absolutely, angel.”

~*~O~*~

The sun was sinking behind the buildings as Crowley rode in the ducal carriage with Aziraphale on the way back from the gardens at Abbadon Palace. It had been a wonderful whirlwind of an afternoon, and Crowley felt a bit like his head was spinning. He’d spent the whole afternoon in Aziraphale’s company, and it had been the most perfect afternoon of his life. Any doubt that he’d had that he was totally in love with Aziraphale had been completely erased. But, as hard as it was to believe, Crowley was really starting to believe that _maybe_ Aziraphale felt the same way. It was incomprehensible, but all the signs were there. There were the requests to spend time together, the increase of heated looks that passed between them, Aziraphale calling him ‘darling’, then the fact that he was being taken on what could only be called a ‘date’ - and that Aziraphale had touched him several times on said date. Nothing overt, just casual touches that could have been accidental or meant nothing - but Crowley was starting to believe that maybe they _did_ mean something. Or, at least, he hoped. But it was foolish to hope. Wasn’t it?

“Did you enjoy yourself, darling?” Aziraphale asked from beside him. 

Crowley shook himself from his thoughts and smiled. “I did, yes.”

“Was it as good as you’d hoped?”

“Better. I had someone to share it with, and that made it so, so much better.” Aziraphale looked pleased, and Crowley flushed, hoping he hadn’t overstepped. He wondered idly if it would be _possible_ to overstep. Crowley cleared his throat. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Oh, I had a lovely time. And it was just as I thought - the gardens were twice as beautiful as I remembered because I was able to see them through your eyes.”

He was giving Crowley that _look_ again, as if he was barely refraining from grabbing him and kissing him, and Crowley felt his blood fizz in his veins. Bloody hell, he was so in love. Could Aziraphale be in love, too? Was it possible?

“I hadn’t expected you to be as knowledgeable - or as passionate - as you are. In fact,” he said, and Aziraphale’s eyes were twinkling with mischief, “I wonder if perhaps I should dismiss Brother Francis and start you to work in the conservatory and gardens.”

Crowley sensed he was teasing and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth. “You could do that, but then you’d have to dress yourself.”

“That would be dreadful,” Aziraphale said in mock horror. Then he smiled. “I’m only teasing. I’d never want you to change positions in my home. I’ve enjoyed having you in my bedroom too much.”

There was that _look_ again, the heated one, and Crowley felt his blood heat up and his cock stir. 

“I wouldn’t want to leave you,” he admitted, hoping his meaning was clear. 

Aziraphale’s smile was bright. “I’m very, very glad to hear that.”

They shared a deep, intense look for a moment, and Crowley wanted to kiss him so badly he could hardly stand it. What would Aziraphale do if Crowley kissed him right now? He didn’t know, but he thought he might be about to find out. With every heartbeat, he felt himself leaning in, unable to stop himself, and his eyes were flicking between Aziraphale’s lips and his eyes. Aziraphale’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Crowley nearly whimpered. They were so pink and plush…

The carriage hit a pothole and the two men were jostled. Crowley fell over on Aziraphale, catching himself with his hands on the angel’s broad chest, and Aziraphale clutched his arms to steady him. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Crowley said, sitting upright. 

“It’s quite alright, darling.”

 _Darling_. Crowley could have taken flight. 

“Will we, um, will we have time to get you dressed for dinner when we get home?”

“I think so,” Aziraphale said, pulling out his pocket watch and looking. “And if I’m a few minutes late, well, it won’t be the end of the world if my food is a bit cold.”

“I expect the staff is going to have lots of questions about this,” Crowley pondered aloud.

“Yes, I was thinking about that,” Aziraphale said, looking a bit more serious. “I worry that they may treat you unfairly or single you out in an unpleasant way because of me.”

“They might, but I don’t think Tracy will let them mistreat me.”

“Oh? You’ve become friends?”

Crowley grinned. “She’s adopted me. Keeps feeding me and treating me like her son. We’ve had lots of long talks.”

“Oh, that’s good. Do you like that she does that?”

“I do, I think. It’s nice to have someone to talk to, you know?”

“Well, I’m very glad you have Tracy, but you can always talk to me. I hope you know that. I’d love to be your confidant.”

“I - yeah. I’d like that, too,” Crowley said, falling deeper into love with every passing moment. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out before he either blurted his feelings or exploded with them. He didn’t think it would be long.

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale had to fight with himself to keep from retiring immediately after dinner, he was so eager to see Crowley again. But he mastered himself and went to his study, attending to correspondence he’d neglected earlier in the day. When he finished with that, it was only 8:45, so he went to the library to spend a little time. He picked a novel to read, hoping to become engrossed, but all he could think of was Crowley. He’d looked so lovely today in the gardens, more at home than Aziraphale had ever seen him. It had made him love the other man even more, as impossible as that seemed.

After a time, when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he got up and brought the book with him to retire. When he ran into Shadwell, he asked for him to have Crowley sent up, wished him a good night, then went to his room to wait. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Crowley arrived just moments after Aziraphale, letting himself in, making Aziraphale smile. Without a word, he went to the chair beside the fire and Crowley came to take off his boots. 

“How was your evening, darling?”

“It was alright,” Crowley said, working on the first boot. “How was your evening?”

“A bit of a let down, if I’m being honest, after the excitement of the day.”

Crowley smiled down at the boot he was removing. “Did nothing at all interesting happen?”

“Not really. I responded to some correspondence. Mr. Wilkins continues to refuse to sell to me.”

“Mr. Wilkins?”

“Yes. Haven’t I told you about that?”

“I’m afraid not, angel.”

“Oh, I thought I had. Mr. Wilkins is a bookseller here in town who has a copy of Hamlet that I covet. However, he prefers not to work with the gentry after several bad experiences.”

“That’s odd. I’ve never heard of anyone doing that.”

“I haven't either. It is most unusual, and highly frustrating. I very much want that book.”

“Why is it so special?”

“It was printed in 1680, so it’s very old. But beyond that, I just like Hamlet. It’s far and away Shakespeare’s greatest work.”

“If you say so,” Crowley said. 

“You don’t like the bard?” Aziraphale asked with an eyebrow raised. 

“Not the gloomy ones. I prefer the funny ones. The love stories.”

Aziraphale softened. “Yes. I rather like love stories, too,” he said. 

Crowley looked up from the boots, his eyes wide, and Aziraphale held his gaze, smiling softly. Crowley smiled softly in return. 

“Er, shall we get you undressed, angel?”

“Oh, yes. Let’s,” Aziraphale said, getting to his feet, and Crowley followed suit. They went to the dressing table and Aziraphale emptied his pockets so Crowley could get started on his buttons. Aziraphale watched his face as his fingers moved swiftly over the buttons of his coat, then he shrugged it off and handed it to Crowley. Crowley lay it to the side and came back to start on his waistcoat. 

“I don’t think I ever thanked you for today,” Crowley said, his eyes still on his work. 

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s my honor to spend time with you, darling.”

Crowley’s eyes darted up to meet Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale nearly broke and leaned forward to kiss him, but refrained. It was getting harder to do.

“I’d like to do it again,” Aziraphale said.

“I’d like that, too.”

“Maybe we can go to the theater sometime. To see a comedy.”

Crowley smiled and accepted the waistcoat. “If you’d like, angel.”

“I’d like it. I’d like that very much.”

Crowley had come back from laying the waistcoat to the side and started on the buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt slowly, much more slowly than he’d been with any other task. The skin of his fingers brushed the skin of Aziraphale’s chest unnecessarily, and Aziraphale nearly combusted. His heart was pounding and his breaths were coming harder, his cock was thickening and he had his eyes locked on Crowley. Crowley was flushed, his own breaths rough, and his amber eyes were focused on his hands. 

“Will you take breakfast with me in the morning?” he asked, his voice strained. 

Crowley nodded, still not looking at him. “I’d love to,” he breathed. 

Aziraphale’s hands twitched beside him with the want to reach out and _touch_ Crowley.

“I think - I think I’ve come to a decision.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to have breakfast in my room with you every day. If you’re willing.”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale and nodded, his eyes wide, then went back to his slow work on Aziraphale’s buttons. “I’m willing. I’ll bring it myself every morning.”

“Very good,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley finished the last button. Then, God save him, he put his warm hands flat on Aziraphale’s chest to push the shirt off of his shoulders. Aziraphale couldn’t help the little sound he made.

The shirt fell to the ground, but neither of them even looked at it. Crowley's eyes were glued to Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale thought he may die. He wanted to beg, he wanted to plead, he wanted to do anything and everything it took to make Crowley touch him again, more intimately. His cock was throbbing, and he didn’t know his own strength anymore. Could he wait until Crowley made the first move? Right at the moment, he didn’t think he could. 

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, and Crowley looked a mess, almost as affected as Aziraphale. Aziraphale looked down to see that Crowley was hard and tenting his trousers, and he had to bite back a whimper. 

Crowley seemed to come to himself, and took a step back. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I forgot myself. I’ll just… get your clothes together so you can retire.”

“Leave them,” Aziraphale croaked. “They’ll keep until morning.”

The valet nodded, still wide eyed, then said, “Do you need me for anything else, angel?”

 _I need you so much. Please,_ he nearly begged. 

Instead, he said, “No, I can finish undressing myself.”

Crowley gave a short nod. “I’ll - I’ll be here in the morning with a breakfast tray.”

“That would be lovely.” _Stay with me. Please stay with me._

“Goodnight, angel.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard, trying not to cry from frustrated desire. “Goodnight, darling.”

Crowley gave him one more longing look, then turned and left the room. Aziraphale watched him go until the door closed, then buried his face in his hands.


	8. Chapter 8

He’d only been at the ball for a quarter of an hour, but Aziraphale was already beyond ready to go home. It was a lovely affair, he was sure: the ballroom was sumptuously decorated, the music was nice, and the champagne was good. But in the fifteen minutes he’d been here, he’d already been approached by four acquaintances with young daughters debuting this year. It made him sick, the way these people were so willing to foist their own child off on someone they didn’t know, simply to ‘make a good match’. He hated everything about the situation he was in, and resented his sister for putting him here. For the millionth time, he pondered leaving the country for a long while. Just take Crowley and disappear. Maybe he could go to France, to Paris. At least there, he’d be able to get decent crepes. And there was the brioche. Maybe he should do it. It was awfully tempting. 

He sighed a little, thinking of Crowley. Oh, he was so deeply, painfully in love. And he was willing to bet his title and all his riches that Crowley cared about him, too. Yet Crowley hadn’t made any sort of overture that would allow Aziraphale to kiss him, to touch him, to be with him the way he wanted. They’d gone to the gardens nine days ago, and that night was the night Crowley had _touched_ him. Aziraphale had been hopeful that there would be a similar event the next morning, or the following evening, but Crowley had gone back to being entirely professional while they were dressing and undressing. There were no extra touches and no caresses, although Aziraphale had seen evidence of his valet’s arousal multiple times. 

Despite the lack of touching, Aziraphale had persevered in his campaign to woo Crowley and win his heart - and Crowley seemed receptive. He smiled and laughed and joked more every day, and there were tons of stolen, heated looks. Aziraphale was _certain_ that Crowley wanted him, too, but the other man wasn’t acting. Aziraphale didn’t know why, but it was maddening. 

Still, mixed messages aside, he was hopeful that eventually, if he played his cards right, Crowley would be his. He couldn’t wait for that day and prayed for it every time he closed his eyes. He wanted to share his love with Crowley - and have it returned. 

His train of thought was interrupted by another marriage-minded mama coming up to him, daughter in tow. Aziraphale was polite but aloof, not showing any more than the barest interest, hoping to discourage them from trying again. 

He’d just gotten rid of the latest woman and her daughter when he heard, “Hello, sunshine” from behind him. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, then turned around. 

“Gabriel. I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

“Surprise!” Gabriel said with a greasy smile. “Good to see you, sunshine.” His eyes raked Aziraphale up and down. “You look good.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you having a good time?”

“As much as I ever do at one of these events,” he sighed. 

Gabriel’s eyes twinkled. “I think I know a way to improve your evening.”

Aziraphale didn’t need to ask - he'd seen that look enough to know what the other man was thinking. 

Gabriel went on. “There’s a nice billiards room that’s out of the way. No one would notice if we were to disappear for a bit.”

“I don’t think so,” Aziraphale said with a little smile he hoped concealed his revulsion.

“Oh, come on, sunshine. I’ve missed that mouth of yours. You’re the best cocksucker I’ve ever known,” he added, tracing a finger down Aziraphale’s sleeve. 

Aziraphale fought down a shudder and forced himself to smile. “I appreciate the praise, but I'm afraid I have to decline.” 

“Why?” Gabriel asked - nearly demanded. 

He thought of being honest, of telling Gabriel that he was no longer interested in their arrangement, but wasn’t quite sure how to parse it. Besides, he rather thought that in the middle of a crowded ballroom was not the time. But he knew it was a conversation he needed to have soon. He never wanted to touch Gabriel again. 

Aziraphale was just opening his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what, when he glanced up and saw his sister approaching, a young woman in tow. He didn’t know if he was relieved or dismayed to see her. 

“We’ll talk later, Gabriel, I promise. But for now, I see my sister. I do hope you’ll excuse me.”

Without waiting for Gabriel to say anything, dismissing him completely, he turned and faced Michael. 

“Michael,” he said, smiling when she came to a stop a few feet away, a young woman by her side. “You look lovely.”

She didn’t waste time with small talk. “Thank you. Aziraphale, I’d like you to meet Lady Anathema Device. She’s the daughter of the Earl of Jasmine and is making her debut next week.”

Anathema curtseyed, as decorum dictated, and Aziraphale took a moment to look her over. She really was quite pretty, with exquisite features and dark hair piled on top of her head. Her sea blue dress brought out her eyes, and Aziraphale got the impression - with no words having been spoken - that she was quite sharp. 

“It’s a pleasure, Your Grace.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he said politely. 

Once she was back to standing, Aziraphale looked at his sister to see that she was looking immensely pleased with herself, as if she’d accomplished some great feat and they were fated to marry. Aziraphale almost felt sorry for her for a moment. 

They stood silently, awkwardly, and Aziraphale was quite sure he knew what Michael wanted, but he refused to give it. The silence grew until Michael trampled on his toe, baring her teeth in a forced smile. He glared daggers at her, and she glared right back, then made a small movement with her head towards Anathema. 

Aziraphale sighed, wishing himself far away from here, then turned to Anathema. “Lady Anathema, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

She curtseyed again. “It would be my pleasure, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale offered his hand and Anathema took it, and they walked out to the dance floor. Once they’d found a suitable place, he turned and took her waist, very sure not to touch her more than he had to. Then they started to dance. They’d gone a few steps before Aziraphale thought of something to say. “You dance well, Lady Anathema.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

They fell into silence again, and Aziraphale didn't know how to fill it. He didn’t particularly _want_ to chat up this young woman, but he knew his sister was watching with expectations. Still, small talk with women was _not_ his fortè. 

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” he finally decided. 

“Oh?”

“Yes. My sister seems to have taken an interest in you, and I hear we have a mutual friend.”

“Who might that be, Your Grace?”

“Lady Ella Fitzgerald - her husband is my best friend.”

“Oh! Yes. Lady Ella is one of my dearest friends.”

More silence. Aziraphale wished for Crowley, for the easy conversations they now shared. Not to mention, he wished he was holding Crowley in his arms, not this young woman. 

But for now, he had to dance with Anathema - this woman he was supposed to marry, if his sister had anything to say about it. 

He tried again. “Do I hear you enjoy reading?”

“I do, yes.”

“Splendid. What type of books do you enjoy?”

“Oh, all sorts. I recently finished a Shakespeare anthology.”

“How interesting. Do you subscribe to the belief that Shakespeare’s works must have been written by someone else?”

“No, I don’t, and I think it’s elitist to think that.”

Aziraphale blinked. “You do?”

“I do. One does not need to be educated at the finest universities to be clever. Although I admit to being amused by the theory that his works were written by a woman.”

“Yes, that is quite amusing, but very unlikely.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Well, some of Shakespeare’s jokes were a bit… ribald.”

“Do you not believe that women are capable of writing ribald jokes? They very much are, Your Grace. Women have very similar senses of humor to men, and find most of the same things funny.”

“Really.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Aziraphale was struck dumb for a moment. Not by the knowledge that women enjoyed dirty jokes, but more by the frankness of this girl. It was entirely different from the frankness he was used to from his sister, and the timidity he usually encountered in any other women. It was refreshing, to say the least. 

“You’re not what I expected,” Anathema said. 

Aziraphale smiled lightly. “I was just thinking the same thing about you. But I shudder to think what you expected.”

“May I be honest?”

He smiled brighter. “Please do.”

“The Countess has made it sound as if you’re desperate for a wife. It made me wonder what type of man you were. She’s got my parents convinced that you and I are going to marry before the end of the season.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I see she’s been playing matchmaker on your end, too.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And how do _you_ feel about that?”

“May I be frank again?”

“Yes, please do. I very much enjoy your frankness, if I’m being honest.”

“I’m not crazy about it. I know matchmaking and arranged marriages are the done thing in the ton, but I’d always hoped to be able to choose my husband. Not be forced into a marriage.”

“I’ve no intention of being forced into marriage, either,” Aziraphale said, even though he _was_ being forced. 

“Who’d force a Duke?” Anathema asked. 

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

“So what do we do? Everyone is expecting you and I to hit it off and have this grand love affair and marry in a matter of months, but I have no interest in that.”

“No, I don’t either, but I have to admit that I’ve enjoyed my time with you this evening, and would like to see you again - as friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yes, of course. Two souls who are being pushed together, but are really using each other to alleviate the boredom of the Season. We can become close in that way, and nothing more.”

“But people expect us to marry,” she pointed out. 

“Well, they can expect that, and we may even give off the impression that we are considering it, but you and I will know better. And it will buy you time to meet a man you _do_ want to marry.”

She looked suspicious, as if she were waiting for him to drop some other condition, then, seeing none, she smiled. “I think that’s a splendid idea, Your Grace.”

“Lovely,” Aziraphale said, chuffed. “Now, if we’re to be friends, you must drop my title when we’re alone and call me Aziraphale.”

“Alright, Aziraphale.”

“Excellent. Now, my next question that I must ask - may I call on you?”

She grinned. “You’d have to talk to my father about that,” she said in a teasing voice. 

He grinned in return. “Thank you, I will.”

~*~O~*~

They finished the dance and Aziraphale promenaded her over to her parents. He made a bit of polite small talk, and it was just as Anathema had said - they seemed thrilled that their daughter had caught the attention of a Duke. Aziraphale gave Anathema a covert wink before he asked to dance with her once more that evening. She agreed with a smile, and he took his leave.

He spotted Fergus and Ella near the refreshment table, and he was a bit peckish himself, so he made his way over to his best friend and his wife, giving Ella a smile and Fergus a handshake. The three of them chatted for a minute until Ella was called away by a friend, and Aziraphale was left alone with Fergus. 

“I saw you dancing with Lady Anathema,” Fergus said, a smile curling his lips, but his eyes piercing. 

“I did dance with her,” Aziraphale allowed. 

“And? What did you think?”

Aziraphale took a sip of his champagne. “I think she’s very clever. Bright. Refreshingly frank. I believe you’re right - if I were so inclined, she would make an ideal wife.”

Fergus was wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. _If_ I were so inclined. I’ve asked to call on her. At the very least, she and I can entertain each other this Season.”

“Oh, that’s going to cause a stir. After so many years as a bachelor? You're going to create a hubbub.”

“I imagine so, but I don’t have much of a choice. You know the position I’m in.”

“I do. Are you going to marry her?”

“I have no plans to do so, no. But If I’m forced, I must admit that there are other women who would be more miserable to live with.”

“You’ve got that right,” Fergus said. Then he glanced around to see if anyone was nearby. “I haven’t spoken to you in a couple of weeks. How are things going with your valet?”

Aziraphale also checked to make sure there was no one nearby, then sighed. “Frustratingly, maddeningly slow.”

“What’s happening?”

“I’ve taken your advice and done everything I can think of to signal my interest in him. I’ve made it blatantly obvious.”

“Are you _sure_ he’s getting the message?”

“It would be impossible to miss. Yet nothing has changed.”

“It hasn’t?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. And I know, with a bone-deep surety, I _know_ he wants me, too. Yet he hasn’t made a move so I can _finally_ tell him how I feel.”

Fergus watched him carefully. “Are you a hundred percent sure he wants you?”

“I’d bet my life on it. But I don’t know what’s holding him back.”

“Probably fear for his job,” Fergus said. “Or his life. That would be my guess.”

Aziraphale sighed again. “I don’t know how to reassure him.”

“Aziraphale, my friend, I think it’s time you sat him down and had a sincere talk with him.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, I really do. You need to tell him everything. Tell him how you feel and what you want. Tell him his job is secure no matter what, then leave it up to him.”

“What do I do if he doesn’t choose me?”

“I thought you were sure he wanted you?”

“I’m certain he _wants_ me, I’m less certain he’ll _act_ on it.”

“If he turns you down, all you can do is offer to find him a new job, if he wants one. But you have to give him that choice. You _have_ to.”

Aziraphale was about to say something else, to plead for more guidance, but Ella appeared by Fergus’ side and Aziraphale shut up immediately. Still, his mind whirled for the rest of the evening.

~*~O~*~

Crowley was in Aziraphale’s chamber, waiting for him to return home. Aziraphale had gone to a ball tonight, and Crowley knew he’d been dreading it. His parting words had been about how he could expect him home before midnight, but the clock had just struck twelve and he hadn’t returned. Crowley tried not to worry. He was safe - probably just having a better time than he’d expected.

But he knew that Aziraphale was going to see the Countess tonight, and that made him more than a little anxious. What if she got inebriated and confessed to what she’d enlisted Crowley to do? Aziraphale might come home and dismiss him. It was unlikely, but still there was a chance. Regardless, he needed to tell Aziraphale the truth soon. Very soon. Maybe he should tell him tonight. Or maybe Crowley should give the gift he’d purchased for Aziraphale to butter him up - and _then_ tell him. Fuck. He had no idea what to do.

The door opened and Aziraphale came in, a little unsteady on his feet, so gorgeous in his finery. His eyes widened when he saw Crowley, but he looked pleased. 

“Crowley, dear, you waited for me?”

“I did, yes.”

Aziraphale shut the door behind himself and came over, smiling. “Thank you, darling. How good you are to me.”

Crowley jumped up to get to work, taking off first Aziraphale’s shoes, then starting on the buttons of his formal wear. 

“How was your evening, darling?”

“It was fine. How was _your_ evening?”

“Oh, it was alright. Not as dreadful as I’d expected. I saw several friends there, and that was nice. And I was introduced to the woman that Michael wants me to marry.”

Crowley felt a stab of jealousy, but tried to tamp it down. “Lady Device? Anna-something?”

“Yes, that’s her. Anathema.”

He removed the jacket and waistcoat and started on the buttons of his shirt, businesslike. “What did you think of her?”

“Honestly, I liked her a - _hic_ \- great deal. She’s a lovely girl, very pretty and very clever. I think the predictions that she’ll be married by the end of the season are probably accurate.”

Crowley took his shirt and glanced at his chest for a moment, then he swallowed. “But not by you?”

“To tell the - _hic_ \- to tell the truth, if I’m to be forced to marry, she’s the exact type of woman I’d like to marry. I just wouldn’t want to touch her.”

“Why not?”

“Because my heart belongs to another.”

Crowley froze, the discarded clothes in his hand, his eyes wide. Aziraphale was giving him a _look_ , and Crowley’s heart sped up.

“My dear, I have something to discuss with you sometime in the near future. Not tonight, as I’ve had a bit of champagne and would like to approach this topic with a clear head. But soon.”

“That’s not anxiety-inducing at all,” Crowley said with a small, nervous laugh.

“Don’t be anxious, my darling. Just a situation we need to discuss.”

Shit. Had the Countess told him? What would Crowley do?

“Okay.” 

They both looked at each other for a charged moment, and Crowley wanted to kiss him, to touch him, to _be with_ him… but he also wanted to run away, to find another job and try to pretend he’d never agreed to spy on his love, and certainly had never fallen in love with his master...

“I think I can take it from here,” Aziraphale said softly. “Will you bring the breakfast tray tomorrow at ten instead of eight thirty?”

“Yeah, of course, angel. Whatever you want.”

“Lovely. I look forward to that. Sleep well, darling. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, angel,” Crowley replied, then left the room quietly while Aziraphale crawled into bed.


	9. Chapter 9

Crowley sat at the table in the common area the next morning, killing time until a quarter of ten, drinking coffee. He did this frequently over the last few weeks, sitting by himself in the mornings while he waited for time to go wake Aziraphale. More often than not, Tracy would join him, and they’d had several long, deep talks. Over their conversations, he’d confessed nearly every secret he’d ever had - except what the Countess had asked him to do, and the fact that he was in love with Aziraphale. She was just so easy to talk to, she’d drawn his confidences out of him with a gentle hand - and he trusted her implicitly. He’d grown quite close to Tracy and considered her his closest friend, except for Aziraphale. He would miss her when he moved on. And after last night, he felt sure he’d have to move on soon.

For the hundredth time, Crowley wondered what on earth Aziraphale wanted to talk to him about. The only thing he could figure was that maybe he’d been right in his fear and Michael _had_ confessed that he was spying. Aziraphale had implied that the subject wasn’t bad, but that was probably a lie of kindness. Crowley felt sure his days were numbered. It made him feel even more ridiculous about the gift he’d gotten Aziraphale, that he planned to present soon, but if he was going to have to go - either by dismissal or his own volition - he wanted to leave at least one happy memory for Aziraphale. Something to remember him by. He was a fool to spend the money and he knew it, but if he was gifted with the sight of Aziraphale’s delighted face, it would be worth every penny. He just knew it. And maybe it would save his job - so he could stay close to Aziraphale. 

Tracy spotted him at the table and came over with a scone on a plate. “Good morning, dear.”

He gave her a small smile. “Good morning, Tracy.”

She took a seat beside him. “How are you?”

“I’m quite well.”

She glanced around the common room, seeing if anyone else was around, then asked, “How are things with His Grace?”

“Great!” Crowley said with a forced smile. “Just great.”

She gave him a pointed look. “How are they, really?”

Crowley sighed, deflating. “They're fine. I think. He has something to talk to me about in the near future, but I have no idea what it is.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing bad.”

“I hope not. It’ll make the gift I got for him redundant.”

She widened her eyes a bit. “You got him a gift?”

“I did, yeah. Something he confided that he wanted.”

“What is it?”

“A book. A play, actually.”

“Well, he’ll love that.”

“I hope so. And then I think I might look for another job.”

Tracy blinked. “Why on earth would you do that? Are you not happy here?”

“No, I’m blissfully, stupidly happy, but I’m starting to go mad.”

“Because you’re in love with His Grace?”

Crowley sputtered a denial, his words tripping all over each other, but Tracy’s eyes were so kind, so sympathetic. He couldn’t lie to her, and he never _wanted_ to lie about Aziraphale. So he hung his head. 

“Yes. I am.”

“How long, dear?”

“Since the moment I met him, I think.”

“Do you think he feels the same?”

Crowley gave a sardonic laugh. “How could he possibly? I’m a nobody, just another servant,” he said, even as his mind replayed all their private moments when he’d wondered if Aziraphale _could_ feel that way. 

“I doubt very seriously that he thinks of you as just another servant.”

“Well, he should,” Crowley said morosely. “That’s all I am.”

Tracy patted his arm comfortingly. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to give him the gift, just because I want to see the happiness on his face, then I’m going to leave, I think.”

“Why do you feel you need to go?”

Crowley glanced over his shoulder again, making sure no one was around. “Because I can’t stand to be so close to him, feeling the way I feel, and not be able to tell him.”

“Maybe you _should_ tell him.”

Crowley scoffed. “You’re mad.”

“That may be true, but I still think you should tell him.”

“I could never.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll look at me with pity.”

“I truly don’t think he would.”

“There's too great a chance. I can’t. I just can’t.”

She looked sad. “Oh, dear, I can’t bear to see you hurting this way.”

He gave a brave smile. “It's fine. Really.”

“It’s not fine. You’re tearing your own heart out, and I don’t think you need to. You could be happy here, Crowley. Truly happy. If you just take a chance and tell him.”

“I _can’t_ ,” he whispered. 

She gave him a sizing-up look. “Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve been on this earth for sixty three years, and I’ve learned a thing or two. And one of the things I’ve learned is that if you’re going to suffer anyway, you might as well suffer for something. Don’t suffer for nothing.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I mean that you’re in love with His Grace, and you’re miserable not telling him. You’re so convinced that he’s going to reject you, but you don’t know that. So you’re suffering for nothing, when there’s a _chance_. There’s always a chance.” She put her hand on his shoulder and said, “Crowley, I’ve never really regretted taking a chance and not getting what I wanted. But I _have_ regretted the times I didn’t take a chance at all.”

Crowley considered her a moment, thinking hard. Then she kissed his cheek. “Go on, dear. Eat this food while it’s warm, then go take care of His Grace. But think about what I said, won’t you?”

“I will, yeah,” Crowley agreed with a small smile. 

“Good.”

~*~O~*~

Crowley was hardly paying attention to the card game and had lost a few pennies as a result. His mind was full of Aziraphale and counting the minutes until he was summoned to help Aziraphale prepare for bed. The small book was tucked neatly into his pocket, and he’d decided to tell Aziraphale the whole truth tonight about the spying. He’d packed up most of his room this afternoon, anticipating his dismissal. He still didn’t know what Aziraphale wanted to talk to him about, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to tell Aziraphale the truth now, no matter the consequences. He couldn’t bear lying to his love. 

He’d just lost another tuppence when Shadwell appeared below stairs. “Crowley, His Grace is retiring and has asked for you.”

“Yes, Mr. Shadwell,” Crowley said, getting up from the table, his heart in his throat. He felt pale and wobbly as he made his way to the Grand Staircase, then to Aziraphale’s chambers. As he often did, he paused outside the door and took a deep breath. This was fine. Aziraphale was his friend and might have mercy. If he didn’t, maybe Crowley could find work in a flower shop or something. It would be fine. He wouldn’t starve. 

He closed his eyes and sent up a little prayer, then knocked twice and pushed the door open. 

“Is that you, Crowley?” Aziraphale said, turning to smile at Crowley from his place beside the dressing table, where he was emptying his pockets. “Ah, good. I'm glad you’re here.”

Crowley couldn’t say anything around the lump in his throat, so he just gave a tense smile.

“Are you alright, darling?” Aziraphale asked, looking concerned. 

“I’m fine,” Crowley said brightly, a little _too_ brightly. “I just... I have something for you.”

Aziraphale looked surprised. “Something for me?”

“Yes. A gift.”

“You bought me a gift?”

Crowley withdrew the small, wrapped book from his pocket and looked at it. “I did. It’s not much, but… I… I wanted you to have it. So I went to get it.”

He took two abrupt steps forward and handed the parcel to Aziraphale, feeling that familiar spark between them when their fingers brushed. Aziraphale looked at him quizzically for a moment, then down at the book. Carefully, he untied the string and unfolded the paper it was wrapped in. 

“Oh!” he said, his eyes widening. “Is this…”

“This is the copy of Hamlet you said you wanted. From Mr. Wilkins. 1680, right?”

Aziraphale looked up with wide eyes. “But darling, this must have cost you a couple of months’ salary.”

Crowley shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I have some saved up. A little nest egg. But I couldn’t think of any way for you to get what you wanted unless I helped.”

“You simply must let me reimburse you.”

“Then it wouldn’t be a gift.”

“I - I don’t know what to say.”

He shuffled his feet a little, blushing. “It was nothing.”

“It’s so much more than nothing, Crowley.”

“Just… are you happy?”

Aziraphale relaxed into a radiant smile. “I’m over the moon, darling. Thank you so very much.”

That smile was what Crowley had wanted - had _needed_ \- and he smiled in return. “You’re welcome. Shall I help you with your boots?”

“Not… right now, dear. I’d like to have a talk with you. There’s a matter we need to discuss.”

Crowley swallowed hard, his whole body feeling like it was vibrating. “Alright.”

Aziraphale gestured to the two chairs in front of the fireplace. “Won’t you sit down?”

He gave a jerky nod, then went to the chair with quick, equally jerky motions, although he felt like a condemned man. 

Aziraphale lay the book down on the dressing table, then came to sit in the chair across from Crowley. Crowley watched his every movement, committing him to memory, convinced that this would be the last time he’d ever get to see his love. He was so beautiful, so lovely to look at, and Crowley wanted to cry, wondering how he was ever going to live without seeing Aziraphale every day. 

The angel opened his mouth, then shut it. He opened it again, taking a short breath as if preparing to speak, then closed it once more. Crowley was sure his heart was beating double time with nerves, and if he’d been capable, he'd have begged Aziraphale to spit it out. 

“Just a moment, please,” Aziraphale said, then poured two glasses of scotch. He picked up one and handed it to Crowley, who took it with trembling fingers. Aziraphale took a long drink from his glass, and Crowley copied him. The silence stretched, every tick of the clock feeling like six thousand years, but still Aziraphale didn’t speak. He took another long drink of his scotch, then sat it on the table and took a deep breath. Finally, just as Crowley was about to jump out of his skin, he spoke. 

“Crowley, I’d like to think that over the last couple of months, we’ve grown quite close. I certainly feel closer to you than I do to any other human, and I hope you feel the same.”

“I - I do,” Crowley managed. 

“Good. I admire you a great deal. I hope that I’ve shown you that clearly enough, but I wanted to tell you, so there will be no ambiguity or secrets between us.” He paused and took a breath. “Yet the admiration I have for you is not entirely platonic.”

Crowley drew a sharp breath, but Aziraphale didn’t stop. 

“As your employer, I’m in no position to ask more of you. To do so would put you in an untenable position. So what I’m doing is telling you right now, in no uncertain terms, that if you had interest in a more… intimate relationship with me, you need only make a move and it would be welcomed.”

Crowley’s eyes were wide, his jaw slack, and it felt as if he were buzzing. He had no idea what to say, but his mouth worked anyway.

“Angel…”

Aziraphale went on. “If I have misread the situation, misread _you_ , and you do not desire me, we shall say no more about it. I want you to know that your job is secure for as long as you want it, no matter what you decide. You are welcome and wanted here. But if I’ve made you uncomfortable and you want to leave, please know that I will endeavor to do everything in my considerable power to help you find a position in a good, reputable house. Selfishly, though, I do hope you’ll stay, and that you’ll choose me.”

His ocean blue eyes were speaking entire volumes as he looked at Crowley, almost pleading, and Crowley didn’t know what to say. His mind was a jumble and he couldn’t quite make sense of what he’d heard. Aziraphale was offering him a physical relationship. But it wouldn’t be his heart. Could Crowley be happy with that? Or would it drive him utterly insane? What would Aziraphale say when he told him the truth about the spying? Oh, fuck, he needed to do that. That would change everything. Surely Aziraphale would no longer want him after he knew that. But there was no choice - he had to be honest. He had to. 

“I have something to tell you.”

Aziraphale looked disappointed for a moment, then it disappeared. “Oh?”

“Yeah. And you might hate me.”

“I couldn’t ever hate you, Crowley. Never. Please know that,” Aziraphale said. “But you can tell me what you need to.”

Just as Aziraphale had done, Crowley opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times, then drained his glass of scotch. He wasn’t sure how he was able to swallow, his throat felt so tight, but he managed. _Just tell him, you coward._

“I’ve been spying on you,” he blurted. 

Aziraphale blinked. “You what?”

“When the Countess transferred me to your house, she charged me with gathering information about you that would help her find you a wife. Every two weeks, I’ve been writing her a letter. But I’ve deliberately kept the letters vague. I’ve told her very little about you that she didn’t already know. She’s grown quite tetchy with me about it. But I haven’t told her anything of value, I swear. I felt like I didn’t have a choice but to write to her, though. If I hadn’t agreed, she’d have dismissed me.”

There was a dark cloud over Aziraphale’s face, and he looked angrier than Crowley had ever seen. “Did she pay you?”

“Yes. Five pounds a month, with a promise of twenty-five more pounds when you married. And I’m so sorry, angel. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said, very softly. He looked livid, and Crowley shrunk a little in his seat. 

After several long moments, Crowley said, “I’ve already packed my room.”

Now Aziraphale looked puzzled. “Why did you do that? Are you under the impression that I’m angry with you?”

“Are - are you not?”

He gave a small smile. “No, darling. I’m not. I’m livid, but not with you. You were put in an impossible situation, and were forced to do what you did. I appreciate your honesty.”

“So you’re not dismissing me?”

“No, darling,” Aziraphale said kindly. 

Crowley felt sweet relief wash over him, and he gave a small smile. Then he asked, “Does that change your mind about - about what you said?”

Aziraphale gave him another, softer smile. “Not in the least. I had known you were special, a treasure among men, but now I’m even more sure of it. And I’m twice as attracted to you.”

The valet sat back in his seat, taking it all in. He wasn’t fired, he was still going to get to see Aziraphale every day, and now Aziraphale had offered him a physical relationship. It wasn’t what he wanted, but could he be happy with this?

“Why don’t you think about it, and we can talk later, if you want to. If you wish never to speak about it again, of course, we won’t.”

Crowley nodded. Time to think would be good. “Alright. Yeah. Shall I…?” he asked, gesturing to his boots. 

Aziraphale held up a hand with a smile. “I can undress myself this evening, darling. You go think, and if you want to talk tomorrow, we will. Otherwise, we’ll never mention it again.”

Time to think. Crowley really could use a little while to gather his thoughts. “Yeah. I… I think I will.” 

“Goodnight, Crowley. Go sleep, and dream of whatever you like best.”

_Then I’ll dream of you._

“Goodnight, angel,” he said, then got to his feet and went to the door. When he reached it, he turned and gave Aziraphale a long look before he let himself out and went to his own room to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *evil grin*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is my birthday - so you get a gift!! I hope you like it!

Aziraphale was awake when the sun rose the next morning, and had been the entire night. He hadn’t even really tried to sleep. He was entirely too keyed up. 

Crowley’s revelation that Michael had planted him in his house had been a shock, but Aziraphale felt stupid for being surprised. He should have known, should have suspected. Honestly, his sister was just the _worst_ human, and it amazed him sometimes that they were even related. He was cross with her for spying on him, of course, but he was far angrier with her about putting Crowley in such a terrible situation. His love didn’t deserve that, but that was just a mark to his sister’s character. She was selfish to a fault, even though she claimed she was only working for Aziraphale’s benefit. She was also a liar. 

But that was only a small part of the reason he couldn't sleep. The rest was entirely Crowley. Aziraphale had spent several hours remembering Crowley’s reaction to his proposal, analyzing every word he’d said and every microexpression he’d made. He’d hoped, foolishly, that when he’d made his offer, Crowley would have leapt into his arms and he’d have stayed up all night for different, far more pleasant reasons. But that hadn’t happened, and anxiety clawed at Aziraphale’s mind. What would he do if Crowley turned him down? Could he go on as if nothing had happened, as if he weren’t madly in love with the man that served him every day? He honestly didn’t know. All he could do was pray that he hadn’t been wrong, and that Crowley _did_ want him. 

But Crowley had bought him the book. That had to mean something, right? People just didn’t spend that kind of money on people they only kind of liked, especially not the lower classes. 

Aziraphale recoiled from the phrase ‘lower classes’ within his own mind. Crowley wasn’t nobility, but he wasn’t beneath Aziraphale. Not at all. In fact, Aziraphale had never held any other person in higher esteem in his life, and doubted he ever would again. He’d never _loved_ anyone like this. Crowley held his whole heart, and he was terrified that his love was about to crush it. 

So he had paced the floor all night, letting his mind run away with him. He didn’t even consider trying to go to bed - the most his brain would allow was for him to sit in the chair Crowley had sat in (so he could get whispers of his love’s scent) and try to read. But he couldn’t focus on the words, and he ended up staring at the fire as it burned down to embers. 

His mood brightened a bit when the sun started peeking over the horizon. Crowley would be here soon, and maybe they’d talk. Aziraphale knew he mustn’t bring it up - that if they were to discuss what he’d said, it needed to be at Crowley’s discretion - but he was hopeful. So, so hopeful. 

The hands of the clock hardly seemed to move, but it was nearly time. Aziraphale’s heart was beating so hard he felt it pulsing in his fingers and toes, and he knew Crowley would be there soon. He’d never been late. The last few minutes seemed to take an eternity, and Aziraphale stared at the clock. 

At precisely eight twenty-five, the door opened and Crowley came in, carrying the breakfast tray. He didn’t see Aziraphale at first, and Aziraphale was able to watch him with a naked hunger in his eyes. Good _lord_ , he was so in love.

 _Please_ , Aziraphale prayed. _Please let him choose me._

Crowley sat the tray down on the small table, then looked up and saw Aziraphale watching him. He looked startled, and a little tired. Aziraphale wondered if he’d missed sleep, too.

_Please, please choose me._

“Are you alright, angel?” Crowley asked, looking concerned. 

“I’m fine, dear,” he lied. In truth, he was a wreck.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Because you’re still in your clothes from last night.”

Aziraphale looked down to see that Crowley was right. He was still wearing his shirt and breeches from yesterday, although he’d lost his boots and waistcoat, and a quick glimpse in the mirror of his dressing table told him that his hair was a mess. He’d been running his fingers through it all night as he paced.

“Ah. Yes. I, um, I couldn’t sleep. A lot on my mind.”

“Oh.”

“Did you sleep well, my darling?” he asked, then chastised himself internally for calling him ‘darling’. Crowley might not want that. 

_Please let him want that_.

“I - I slept a little. But not much. I had a lot on my mind, too.”

They were silent for a long moment, the space between them pregnant with things unsaid, and Aziraphale pleaded silently. _Choose me. Please let me have you. Let me love you._

Breaking his oath to himself, he asked, “Did you, um, did you think about what I said?”

Crowley nodded. “I did. I thought about it a lot.”

Bright hope shone in Aziraphale’s chest, and he couldn’t help a smile. “And?”

“And I’m forced to say no.”

Aziraphale deflated, feeling like a marionette with its strings cut, and tears pricked his eyes. In a small voice, knowing he shouldn’t, he asked, “But… why?”

The other man looked pained, and his amber eyes pleaded with Aziraphale. “I want to, angel. I want to so desperately.”

“Then why not?”

“I can’t just have a physical relationship with you. I can’t. Not with the way I feel. I’d drive myself mad, only being able to touch you but not _have_ you, not really.” He paused and sighed, looking away, then said, “I thought about it all night, and I think I’m going to take you up on your offer. The other offer, to find me different employment. It’s the only way I can think of to keep myself from losing what’s left of my mind.”

Aziraphale just stared at him for a moment, his brain whirling. “So you’re saying no because of the depth of your emotions for me?”

Crowley nodded sadly. “Yes. I just don’t --”

He didn’t get to finish before Aziraphale crossed the room in two long strides, grabbed him by the head, and kissed him desperately. Crowley went stiff and made a surprised sound, but Aziraphale still kissed him, pleading silently for Crowley to just let go, to let him in. Finally, just when Aziraphale was about to give up, Crowley relaxed into the kiss and Aziraphale thought he’d die of joy. He wrapped his arms around Crowley, holding him tight, and Crowley wrapped his long arms around Aziraphale as well. Eager for more, Aziraphale parted his lips on Crowley and sent his tongue out to taste him, tracing the seam of his lips. He wanted to burst into song when Crowley opened for him and their tongues met. He was nearly overwhelmed by the feeling of _rightness_ he felt standing there, kissing Crowley. It felt as if, after a lifetime, he was finally doing what he’d been meant to do all along, and he never wanted it to end. He could feel the press of Crowley’s long body against him and his heart soared. 

Aziraphale broke the kiss, softening the loss with several small kisses on his pink, slightly swollen lips and all over his beautiful face. Finally, he lay his forehead against Crowley’s and smiled, cradling his face. 

“My darling, my precious one, I love you.”

Crowley withdrew a couple of inches, so he could look into Aziraphale’s eyes. “That’s not funny, angel.”

“I’m not joking, my love. I’m in love with you, more in love than anyone has ever been in the history of the world. I love you completely, with my whole heart. Please, please don’t leave me.”

Crowley blinked his amber eyes at him. “You - you love me?”

Aziraphale nodded, smiling. “I do. I love you, Crowley. I want nothing more out of my life than to be with you, to make you happy, to be yours. Well, that’s not _entirely_ it,” he confessed, his eyes twinkling. “I also want you to love me. I covet your heart. Could it ever be mine?”

“You’re serious.”

“I’m absolutely serious, darling. I’ve never been so serious in my life. I’m in love with you, and want to spend my life with you.”

“I - I love you, too, angel.”

Aziraphale beamed. “You do?”

Crowley nodded. “I do. I love you so much. I think I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

He kissed him triumphantly, though a smile. “I agree wholeheartedly, my love. I think I fell for you in that moment, too, and every moment since has just made me love you more.”

The other man smiled. “You love me.”

Aziraphale practically _glowed_ , then kissed him again, sweetly. “I do. I love you. Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I’ll never leave you, angel. I’m in love with you.”

He sighed happily. “My darling, you just made me the happiest man on earth.”

Then they were kissing again, tongues tangling and hands roaming, their bodies pressed against each other. Aziraphale couldn’t help but roll his hips forward, grinding his cock against Crowley, and Crowley made a little noise at the friction, then rolled his hips as well. Aziraphale was near desperate to get his hands on that prick, then his mouth, and then his arse. He wanted him so much.

“My darling, would you think me a boor if I asked you to make love to me?”

Crowley let out a low sound between a growl and a whine and nipped his neck. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes. I want you. I _need_ you,” Aziraphale replied, almost breathless, his hands clutching Crowley’s back as he sucked on Aziraphale’s neck. “Please, darling.”

Crowley nipped his throat, then soothed the bitten place with his tongue. “I’ll do anything for you, angel. Anything at all.”

“Take me to bed.”

Crowley rolled his hips forward and gripped Aziraphale’s arse. “I’m following you.”

It was a wrench to break away from Crowley, but Aziraphale did it, grabbing his hand and tugging him across the room towards the bed. When they arrived, Aziraphale turned around to face Crowley and was met with a fiery kiss that left him dizzy. Crowley’s hands were on his clothes, undoing the buttons as quickly as he could. 

“It’s been heaven and hell,” Crowley growled against his lips as he furiously worked, “undressing you every night, wanting you the way I do. Being able to touch you but not actually _touch_ you.”

“You can touch me now,” Aziraphale said, out of breath, clinging to Crowley’s shoulders, “I want you to touch me to your heart’s content, my love.”

Crowley pushed his shirt open and off Aziraphale’s shoulders with a needy movement, then stared at his chest with blazing eyes for only a moment before he pressed his mouth against the exposed skin. “ _Christ_ , you taste so good. Better than my fantasies.”

“I’m - oh - I’ve fantasized about you, too, dear,” Aziraphale said, his fingers threading through Crowley’s hair. 

“Say it again. Please.”

“I love you.”

Crowley nipped the skin over his heart. “Again.”

“I love you, Crowley, I love you so much…”

Crowley ringed a nipple with his tongue, then raised up to his full height and kissed Aziraphale again. Aziraphale was dismayed to feel the cloth coming between his skin and Crowley’s. He wanted to feel his love _now_. So he set to work on the buttons of Crowley’s jacket, then his waistcoat, going as quick as he could, never breaking the kiss. Crowley had both hands on his bum, squeezing and massaging, and it drove Aziraphale higher. 

When he got the jacket and waistcoat open, he started on the buttons of his shirt, but was frustrated when there were so many. In a fit of pique, he grabbed the shirt and tore the rest of it open, sending buttons flying. Crowley broke the kiss and drew back a little, panting, his eyes wild. Aziraphale took advantage of the distance to stare at his love’s bare chest. 

He was gorgeous, absolutely, breathtakingly _gorgeous_ , and looked just like Aziraphale had imagined, but somehow _better_. There was a smattering of dark hair across his chest, and his ribs were visible with his heavy breaths. He had ridges on his belly that spoke of abdominal muscles, and Aziraphale couldn’t resist reaching out to touch them. There was a trail of hair from his navel that led down into his trousers, which were severely tented.

“You’re the most beautiful creature God ever made,” he said. 

Crowley shook his head, his eyes roaming Aziraphale’s body. “I think you are. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

By unspoken agreement, their mouths found each other again but Aziraphale didn't wrap his arms around Crowley this time. His hands were busy - first pushing off the jacket, waistcoat, and ruined shirt, then trying blindly to release Crowley’s cock from his trousers and pants. He needed to touch him. Now. 

Once he had the trousers open, he shoved them down and wrapped his hand around Crowley’s prick. They both groaned when he did, into each other’s mouths, and Aziraphale started pumping slowly. Crowley felt so big, so thick and hard, and he couldn’t wait to get that cock inside him. 

With a plan in mind, he broke the kiss and started trailing his mouth down Crowley’s neck, then his shoulders, across his chest. He released Crowey’s cock just long enough to shove his trousers and pants all the way down, and lowered himself to the floor. 

“Angel, what are you -”

“I’m going to suck you off,” Aziraphale replied, looking up at him with lust-blown eyes. 

“You don’t have to -”

“I _want_ to. If you only knew how much I want to, darling. Please let me.”

Crowley gave a jerky nod, and Aziraphale smiled up at him for a moment before he turned his attention to the cock in his hand, in front of his face. He’d never seen a more beautiful one. It was long and thick, filling Aziraphale’s hand nicely, and the head was flushed purple. His mouth watered when he saw the little bead of moisture there, and he couldn't resist darting out his tongue to taste. Crowley hissed from the contact, and Aziraphale made an appreciative moan, closing his eyes when the salty flavor burst across his tongue.

“Angel,” Crowley whined. 

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, still pumping him. With eyes locked on his love, he opened his mouth and licked a broad stripe from his bollocks all the way up to the tip, and Crowley hissed again, closing his amber eyes. 

“Please, angel. Please.”

Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice. He opened his mouth and took the head in, moaning once more, closing his eyes in bliss. Crowley’s cock was heavy on his tongue, and he loved it. He sucked him, gently at first, his hand still pumping what he didn’t yet have in his mouth. 

“Angel, angel,” Crowley whined. 

Aziraphale sucked him a little harder, a little faster, and took him a little deeper. He was thrilled when Crowley brought up his hand to clutch at Aziraphale’s head. Aziraphale made a happy noise and reached for Crowley’s other hand and put it on his head, too, encouraging him. 

“Jesus, angel. Your mouth feels so good. It’s like nothing I’ve ever known. Shit!”

Aziraphale bobbed on him, setting up a good rhythm, stroking the base of his cock with one hand and fondling his bollocks with the other. 

“Fuck. I love the way you suck me. Nothing has ever felt better. Christ, angel.”

He removed his hand from Crowley’s cock and took him deeper, as deep as he could, making a garbled sound and a tremendous mess. Crowley groaned loudly, throwing his head back and tightening his hands in Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale took him until he was gagging on it, then backed off a little. He went back to bobbing on Crowley as deep as he could and still get air. 

“I’m not going to last, angel. It feels too good. You’re too good at this. I’m not - I’m gonna come.”

Aziraphale was greedy for the taste of Crowley’s come, but didn’t want him to come that way. Not that time. Still, he sucked him avidly a little longer, then replaced his mouth with his hand and stroked him, looking up into Crowley’s eyes. 

“Will you make love to me, darling?”

Crowley nodded, his eyes glazed, his mouth lax. “Yeah. I will.”

Aziraphale placed one more kiss to the head of his cock, then got to his feet, kissing Crowley desperately. The next thing he was aware of, they were on the bed, and Crowley was beneath him, working on the button of his trousers. 

“How do you want me, angel? I’ll do anything you want.”

“I don’t know, I just want you. Please.”

Crowley succeeded in opening Aziraphale’s trousers, then rolled them over, flipping their positions, and pulled his pants and trousers down to his thighs, revealing his prick. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. I want to ride this cock sometime. Can I?”

“You can do anything you want to me,” Aziraphale promised. “I’m yours, entirely yours. But please, I’m begging you to _fuck_ me now.”

Crowley captured his mouth in a needy, messy kiss, then broke apart. “Do you have oil?”

“Top drawer.”

He kissed him one more time, then rolled over to the side of the bed to fetch the little vial of oil. Aziraphale ran his hands all over Crowley’s lean torso, pressing kisses to the skin, until Crowley came back and claimed his mouth again. Aziraphale stroked his cock while they kissed, eager to get it inside him. 

“Are you sure you want this, angel?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I’ve never been so sure about anything. Please, darling. I want to make love to you.”

“Anything you want, Aziraphale. Anything,” Crowley vowed, kissing him, then trailed his lips down to Aziraphale’s belly. He could feel Crowley’s hand pulling his trousers and pants off and away, then his long-fingered hands spreading his legs. Aziraphale obeyed, and Crowley took his place lying beside Aziraphale, kissing him again. 

He felt two slick fingers slide between his cheeks, and groaned into Crowley’s mouth when he found his hole and started circling. 

“That alright, angel?”

Aziraphale nodded, wide eyed. “Yes. Give me more.”

There was a pressure on his arsehole, then he felt one of Crowley’s long fingers enter him. Crowley started sliding his finger in and out slowly, fucking him, and Aziraphale whimpered with pleasure.

“Is that good?”

“It’s so good, Crowley. Please… give me another.”

Slowly, gently, Crowley added another until he had two of his long fingers buried in Aziraphale’s arse, and Aziraphale groaned again. 

“Darling,” he whined. “Please, please, I need more.”

“Patience,” Crowley chided, kissing Aziraphale’s neck and fucking him on those two fingers. It felt so good, so blessed _good_ , and Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s cock, hoping to make him feel something even remotely as good. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and he was desperate for more. 

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he broke and began to beg. “Please, darling. Please. I need you.”

“Are you sure you’re ready, angel?” Crowley asked from his place, sucking a mark onto Aziraphale’s throat. 

“I’m so ready, darling. Please, I need to feel _this_ inside me,” he said with another squeeze to Crowley’s cock. “I need it, _please_.”

“Anything you want,” Crowley promised again, then moved so his body was between Aziraphale’s spread legs. Aziraphale watched with eyes fogged with lust as Crowley went to his knees, his fingers still buried in Aziraphale, then slid his fingers out, making Aziraphale whimper. Very quickly, Crowley slicked his cock with the oil until it was shining, then tossed the vial aside and propped himself over Aziraphale’s body on his hands. He used one hand to grip his cock and slide it between Aziraphale’s cheeks, his golden eyes boring into Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale dug his fingertips into the skin of Crowley’s back. 

“Yes, darling. I want you. Yes.”

Crowley lined himself up with Aziraphale’s hole then started pressing in slowly, so slowly, and Aziraphale did his best to relax. It only took a moment until the head had breached, and they both moaned in pleasure. 

“That’s it, darling. Give me more. Yes. So good for me.”

Crowley pressed forward, burying himself in Aziraphale. It was tight, so incredibly tight, and stretched so much it was almost a burn. But nothing had ever felt better. Nothing at all. 

Finally, Crowley was buried as far as he could go, his hips pressed flush against Aziraphale’s arse, and they paused for a moment. Aziraphale pulled him down into a wet, urgent kiss, their tongues exploring. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale breathed when they broke for air. 

“I love you, too.”

“Please, please fuck me, darling.”

Crowley kissed him again, but started to withdraw his cock until only the head remained inside, then pushed back in, their mouths still attached to each other. They didn’t break the kiss when Crowley withdrew and pushed back in again, and again, until Crowley had established a steady rhythm with long, smooth strokes. 

“My darling,” Aziraphale whined, clinging to Crowley’s back, his legs wrapped around his waist. “You’re so good, so good for me. My precious love.”

“Love you, angel,” Crowley said, his voice a little choppy. “Love you so much.”

Every drag of Crowley’s cockhead was hitting Aziraphale’s prostate just right, and he felt himself growing closer. 

“Harder, my darling. Faster. Please.”

Crowley groaned but sped up, and now their bodies were making a dull, slapping sound that Aziraphale very much liked. He threaded his fingers back through Crowley’s hair and started sucking and nibbling his ear. 

“My darling... oh God! You feel so good. Your cock is perfect - oh, heavens, right there. You fuck me wonderfully. Please, never stop.”

“I’m… not gonna last, angel,” Crowley managed between kisses to Aziraphale’s shoulders, amongst grinding thrusts. “It’s too good, your arse is too perfect. I’m gonna come.”

“Yes, my darling, come for me, my good boy. Fill me with it,” Aziraphale begged. 

“Are you - shit - are you close?”

“Yes, my love. Oh! Yes!”

“Touch yourself,” Crowley demanded. “I want you to come for me. Fuck!”

“I don’t need to,” Aziraphale informed him. “I’m going to come just from this. Please, please don’t stop. Just like that.”

“I won’t stop. Not until you come,” Crowley promised, his words broken into grunts from his thrusts. Much to Aziraphale’s delight, he sped up and fucked him harder. 

Aziraphale was getting close, so close, he could almost taste it. “Crowley, Crowley, here I come! Here I come! Ah! Ah!”

“Come angel! Come now!”

Aziraphale obeyed, erupting between their bodies, throwing his head back on the pillow and crying out something that might have been Crowley’s name. It felt as if his blood had been replaced with igniting gunpowder, and he clung to Crowley’s body, soaring and sobbing his release. Crowley fucked him widly, increasing his pleasure until he thought he would die from it, then Crowley stiffened, crying out, and Aziraphale gave a weak smile as he felt him pulsing deep in his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a note - if you’re following ‘The Boyfriend Experience’, I will not be updating on Saturday. You’ll get your update on Sunday. 💛


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They smile and sigh a lot in this, and do from here on out. Sorry, guys. They're just so damn happy.

Crowley came down slowly from the high of his orgasm, floating like a feather on the breeze. His breathing was harsh and his eyes were closed, and all his awareness was focused on his cock, still desperately sensitive and buried in Aziraphale. Aziraphale still had his legs around him and was gripping his back with short, blunt nails, and gradually, Crowley opened his eyes. 

Aziraphale was lying below him, his mouth open to facilitate harsh breaths, his blue eyes half-lidded. When their eyes met, he smiled, and Crowley couldn’t help it, he smiled back. 

“My darling,” Aziraphale said, then pulled Crowley down into a lingering kiss. The urgency of their first kisses had passed, and now they were languid and slow, an easy exploration of each other’s mouths. They continued to kiss each other, wrapped in their own little cocoon, until Crowley softened enough to slip out of him. They both made a noise of displeasure when he did, but continued kissing for a while longer. 

Finally, they broke the kiss, softening the loss with a few quick kisses, and pulled back to look at each other. Aziraphale smiled beautifully up at Crowley, and Crowley beamed right back, happier than he’d ever been. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale said. 

“Angel, I love you, too.”

“Will you hold me?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

Crowley kissed his smile one more time, then rolled off to the side with a groan. He reached for Aziraphale, but the angel had rolled over, reaching for something. He came back with a discarded shirt - his own - and used it to clean first his belly, then Crowley’s. Crowley watched with a smile, then when he was done, Aziraphale kissed the newly-cleaned skin and tossed the shirt aside. He reached for Crowley, and Crowley came willingly, pulling the blanket overtop of them, and when they settled, they were lying belly-to-belly, arms around each other, legs tangled, sharing little kisses and soft words. Crowley smiled at Aziraphale and Aziraphale smiled right back, then he sighed and rested his head on the pillow. 

“Are you alright, angel?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I’m so much better than alright, my darling. I’m the happiest man that ever lived.”

“I’m pretty happy too,” Crowley said with a grin. 

“It’s like all my dreams and fantasies came true at once. I had hoped that you might have feelings for me.”

“I have more than feelings for you, angel. I’m in love with you.”

Aziraphale smiled softly, then kissed his lips. “I’m in love with you, too.”

Crowley beamed, his heart light. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I am, darling. I belong to you, body and soul. And I have since I met you.”

“Surely not _that_ long.”

“Very close to that long. I was enamored of you from the moment I set eyes on you. I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.”

“Funny, I thought the same thing,” Crowley grinned. 

Aziraphale smiled and leaned forward to kiss him. “And now you’re mine.”

“I am, angel. I belong to you. Forever.”

“All my prayers answered,” Aziraphale sighed happily. 

“I didn’t dare pray for you,” Crowley said. “It seemed too big a gift to ask for, even of the almighty. Especially for a wretch like me.”

“You’re not a wretch, my love,” Aziraphale said with a rub to Crowley’s back. “You're the most precious thing in my life.”

Crowley kissed his nose, the way he’d wanted to for weeks. “You’re the most precious thing in my life, too.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes with another sigh, seeming to absorb that, and Crowley took the time to just to gaze at him. He was so beautiful, so stunning, and Crowley loved him so much. He couldn’t believe his luck. But there were things they needed to talk about. Important things. And as much as Crowley wanted to live in this moment forever, he knew they couldn’t move forward without discussing at least some of the obstacles that faced them. 

So he took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then asked, “Hey, angel?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“We need to talk about a few things.”

Aziraphale sighed. “You’re right, we do. But I hate to break the spell of this moment.”

“I do, too.”

Aziraphale sighed again. “Alright. Let’s make a deal. We can talk about all the things facing us if you promise me a few things.”

“Like what?”

“First, you must promise to hold me close while we talk.”

Crowley smiled and kissed him sweetly. “My pleasure, angel. It’s going to be a wrench for me to let you go.”

“For me, too.”

“What else?”

“I want you to promise me that we’ll come out the other side of this conversation together. No matter what. I just got you, and I’m terrified to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me.”

“Do you swear?”

“I do.”

“Good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Aziraphale kissed him softly, then retreated back to his pillow. “Now. What would you like to talk about first?”

Crowley thought for a second. “Well, I suppose first, we should discuss what this means. What’s going to change?”

“It feels like everything has changed, doesn’t it?”

“It does, and it has in some ways, but not really. I’m still your valet, your servant.”

“You don’t have to be,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley gave him a nonplussed look. “Of course I do.”

“No, you really don’t. You just say the word and I’ll have you installed in your own house.”

“Aziraphale, that’s not realistic.”

“Why not? I would gladly write you a bank draft for half my wealth right now, and set you up in a townhouse all your own, with your own servants.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. I’ll give you anything and everything you want, if you just say the word. All the money you could ever dream of.”

“Angel, I don’t _want_ your money. I just want _you_.”

“You have me. But I said all that to say that you can have whatever you want. Anything your heart dreams of.”

“I want to continue to be your valet.”

Aziraphale blinked. “You do?”

“Yes, I do. The idea of being a kept man might appeal to some others, but I want to work for what I have.”

The angel pondered him for a moment. “You truly are different from every other man I’ve ever known.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” Crowley said, a little sheepishly. 

Aziraphale kissed him. “It is.”

“Good.”

“But I don’t see how this is going to work, you being my servant _and_ my lover.”

“I don’t know exactly, either.”

Aziraphale caressed him again. “I want to spend every moment with you, my love.”

“I know. I want that, too. But we have real lives to contend with.” Aziraphale started to protest, and Crowley kissed him quiet. “It will take some getting used to, but we'll figure out out. I imagine there will be lots of long breakfasts and you turning in early.”

“Will you sleep with me?” 

Crowley made to speak and Aziraphale rushed ahead. “I realize you won’t be able to all the time, or the staff will figure us out…”

“The staff is sharper than you think. I’d wager they’ll all know about us within a month, no matter what we do.”

“Do you really think so?” Aziraphale wondered, his eyes wide with surprise. 

“Yes. They know you’re gay, and they know I’ve been having breakfast with you. Tracy knows I’m in love with you, and she’s hinted she knows you’re in love with me.”

Aziraphale blinked, looking even more surprised. “But I never interact with her, not really.”

“I know that. Yet she knows. So I think the staff not finding out is a pipe dream.”

He sighed. “Yes, I suppose so. Well, that’s good news. It means you can stay with me all you want, and we don’t have to be covert.”

“I’m not willing to rub my changed status in their faces, angel. I feel that if we’re _too_ open, it will breed resentment towards both of us. At least at first.”

“You’re probably right. Still, I’d like for us to spend the night together _sometimes_.”

Crowley grinned. “And we will. As much as I feel we can get away with. I promise.”

“Good. Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too. I hope you don’t get tired of hearing that.”

“I promise I won’t. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, and you can’t know how I’ve hoped to hear it.” He kissed Crowley, then asked, “Will you tell Tracy?”

“About the change in our relationship?”

“Yes.”

“I will if she asks. In all honesty, I’m dying to tell someone, I’m so happy.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I can relate. I’d like to shout it from the rooftops. But I suppose I’ll have to limit myself to just telling Fergus.”

“Fergus?”

“My best friend, the Earl of Prentice. He knows all about you, and my quest to win your heart.”

Crowley raised a brow. “There was a quest to win my heart?”

“Oh, heavens yes. Almost from the first day. Fergus has been the one to help me figure out what to do, how best to woo you.”

“What did he advise?” Crowley asked, curious.

“He told me to make my interest in you as obvious as I could, and to let you make the first move. But you never did.”

“I was afraid to. I was scared I was reading you wrong.”

“You weren’t, my love.” Aziraphale kissed him, then went on. “When that didn’t work, Fergus told me to sit you down and have a frank conversation with you.”

“Which you did last night.”

“Yes, I did. Apparently, I wasn’t as straightforward as I’d hoped. You still turned me down. Perhaps I should have told you I’m in love with you,” he teased.

Crowley grinned. “That would have been quite the shock.”

“A good one?”

“Yes, but still a shock and hard to believe. I _still_ don’t quite believe it.”

Aziraphale kissed him lightly. “Believe it, my darling. But surely you must have had _some_ idea?”

“I knew you desired me physically, and was afraid to examine your motives for anything more. I didn’t dare to hope.”

“Well, it seems the hopes you didn’t dare allow yourself have come true.”

Crowley grinned and kissed him. “Yes, they have.”

Aziraphale sighed happily. “I suppose I should thank my sister.”

Crowley felt a bit cold. “That’s another thing we need to discuss. Angel, I’m so sorry...”

“Stop, Crowley. Just stop. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You don’t think me spying on you was wrong?”

“You weren’t given a choice, my love. I know that. It was either do as she asked or be dismissed without a reference.”

“I didn’t want to do it.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“So you forgive me?”

“Of course I do, darling,” Aziraphale said, stroking his back. 

“I know I told you this last night, but I never told her anything of value.”

“I believe you, Crowley. You don’t have to elaborate with me.”

Crowley grew quiet a moment, then asked, “What are you going to do?”

“About my sister?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to confront her about what she did, although I don’t know how or when yet. I intend to tell her in no uncertain terms what I think of her for putting you in that position. Not that I think it will do any good.”

“ _That’s_ what you’re upset about? What she did to me - and not you?”

“Yes, of course. She never should have treated you that way, and I’m livid she did.” Crowley just blinked at him for a moment, but Aziraphale wasn’t done. “I think I’m going to tell her the truth, at least part of it - that you confessed to the reconnaissance and that I’ve told you to stop sending the letters. Or perhaps I should let her stew about it when she doesn’t _get_ a letter. See how long it takes for her to say something about it.”

“Do you think she’ll try to retaliate?”

“There’s nothing she can do to you. I won’t allow it.”

Crowley relaxed a little, hearing that.

Aziraphale sensed his relief and stroked his back again. “You’re safe, darling. I promise. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They lay silent for a little while, wrapped in each other’s embrace, and Crowley’s mind was blissfully empty - but simultaneously bursting with thoughts. He didn’t know how that was possible. Perhaps Aziraphale was magic. 

His love sighed. “Of course, there’s still the _other_ problem I have with my sister.”

“What, that she’s forcing you to marry?”

“Just so.”

“Well, what do you plan to do?”

“I don’t know. There is a large part of me that wants to take you and run away to France or somewhere and just… live there. Avoid the whole thing. But that won’t work long term. I’d have to come back to tend to business every few months, and she could just entrap me then. Plus, I love my home.”

“So you’re going to stay?”

“Yes, I suppose so. I think what I may do is continue to court Anathema’s friendship to keep Michael off my back and to allow Anathema her choice of husband. The poor girl is being put in as horrible a situation as I am. She should be allowed her choice.”

“I agree.”

“I may end up having to marry her. But don’t worry, darling. I’ll never touch her.”

“But you’ll have to provide an heir,” Crowley pointed out, feeling dirty just thinking about Aziraphale touching another person. 

“I’ll think of something. But I promise you, Crowley, I _swear_ to you, I'll never touch another person for as long as I draw breath. I want you and no one else.”

Crowley swallowed down the jealousy he felt. “Angel, you can’t swear that. You’re going to have to marry at some point, and there are certain… duties that go along with marriage.”

“I’ll neglect her. I’m serious, Crowley. Now that I’ve found the one my heart loves, I can’t abide the thought of touching another person. Not even for duty. I love you.”

“And I love you, but I’m trying to be realistic.”

“Are you not jealous?”

“Yes,” Crowley nodded. “I’m wildly jealous, angel. How could I not be? But I know my place.”

“Your place is by my side.”

He smiled. “I’ll always be by your side, sweetheart. Always.”

“That’s all I care about. I can face anything, including marriage to a woman I could never love, as long as you’re with me.”

“I’ll never leave you.”

“Then I’ll be alright,” Aziraphale said, then closed his eyes. Crowley leaned forward to kiss him softly. 

“You should sleep, sweetheart. You were up all night.”

“Mmm. So were you. Perhaps we should sleep together.”

“I think I could stay here with you for a couple of hours. Have a nap. But I’ll need to get up and leave before the maids come in at lunch.”

“Yes, I suppose we will. Still, I’d be grateful for a couple of hours with you in my arms.”

“You can have them,” Crowley said, nuzzling deeper. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale said sleepily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this AMAZING art by Miele_Petite!!
> 
> And this illustration of Aziraphale presenting the snapdragon by AstralGravy!!


	12. Chapter 12

Aziraphale woke up a little disoriented, but became aware of a few things right away. First, he was happy, with an easy smile curving his mouth. Second, he was naked, which was odd because he never slept without clothes. Third, he was wrapped around a naked body. Then it all hit him at once - _Crowley_. He had made love to Crowley and was holding him in his arms. Aziraphale’s heart soared. 

He had his belly to Crowley’s back, his legs slotted behind Crowley’s and one arm around Crowley’s waist. His other arm was being used as a pillow, and there wasn't an inch of space between them. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley was awake, then felt his love playing gently with his fingers and smiled. Eyes still closed, he started pressing kisses to Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Good morning, angel,” Crowley rumbled, threading his fingers with Aziraphale’s.

“Mmm. Good morning, my love. Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Best sleep I’ve ever had.”

“We’ll have to do this again.”

“I agree.”

Aziraphale kissed his shoulder again. “Roll over here so I can see your beautiful face.”

Crowley obeyed, rolling over to face him, and Aziraphale opened his eyes with a smile. Crowley’s gorgeous face filled his vision, and he thought he’d die of happiness. Crowley was relaxed, more relaxed than he’d ever seen him, and he was the most beautiful thing Aziraphale had ever seen, without a doubt. 

“I love you, darling.”

Crowley smiled and kissed him softly. “I love you, too.”

“What time is it?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. 

“It’s eleven thirty.”

“So we slept a while.”

“We did, yes. And we need to get up soon. The maids will be knocking on the door at one, to clean.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I know we need to get up, but I very much don’t want to. I wish I could just stay here in bed with you for the rest of the day.”

Crowley smiled. “I wish that, too.”

“Do you think you could possibly stay with me tonight?”

“I think I could. I’d just need to get up in time to get changed and go to the kitchens to get the breakfast tray.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get, whatever you’ll give me.”

Crowley gave him a lingering kiss. “I’m going to give you everything I can.”

“I just want you.”

“You’ve got me.”

“Then I’m the happiest man who ever lived.”

“No, I think that’s me, sweetheart.”

“Shall we call it a draw?” Aziraphale asked with a quirked smile.

“If you insist, Your Grace,” Crowley teased. 

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, you wicked thing.”

Crowley chuckled too, then kissed him. “I am, terribly wicked. Shall we get up and start the day?”

“Do we have to?”

Crowley gave him another long, lingering kiss, tongues tangled with each other for a moment, until Aziraphale felt himself start to harden. He was just about to reach down and gauge Crowley’s receptiveness to making love again when his love broke the kiss with a smile. 

“Come on, angel. The faster we get through the day, the sooner we can go to bed together tonight,” he said, rolling over to perch on the side of the bed. 

Aziraphale didn’t respond, he was too busy watching the play of muscles in Crowley’s back as he bent over to pick up his smalls and trousers and put them on. His eyes went appreciatively to Crowley’s bum when he stood to pull up his clothes, and he smirked a little to himself. 

“What are you grinning at?” Crowley asked, his mouth quirked up in half a grin as he picked up his ruined shirt. 

“Oh, I was just looking at your arse,” Aziraphale said nonchalantly. “And thinking I’d like a bite.”

Crowley grinned wickedly. “You can have a bite. In fact, you can do anything you want to my arse. Later.”

“But dear…” Aziraphale pouted. 

He leaned across the bed and kissed Aziraphale with a smile. “Sloth is a sin, angel, and you shouldn’t indulge in sin.”

“So is lust, but you didn’t complain when we indulged _that_.”

Crowley grinned against his mouth then kissed him quickly. “Come on, sweetheart. Get up, get dressed, and let’s eat breakfast. And I promise we’ll indulge in whatever you want tonight.”

“Oh, alright,” Aziraphale sighed, sounding very put out. Crowley grinned again and stood, pulling on his shirt. 

Aziraphale kept sneaking glances at him as he pulled on his smallclothes and the dressing gown. Crowley was buttoning up his waistcoat and shrugging into his jacket, and Aziraphale wanted to kiss him so much he couldn’t stand it. It occurred to him with great joy that he _could_ kiss his love now, so he did. 

Crowley smiled at him. “What was that for?”

“Just because. I think I’m going to be kissing you ‘just because’ quite a lot.”

His love kissed his smile. “I look forward to that.”

“My clothes are on the horse?”

“Yes, behind the screen.”

“Perfect. I’ll be right back.”

Aziraphale left him with one more kiss, then darted behind the screen to dress. He discarded the dressing gown and pulled on his hose and breeches, then his shirt and waistcoat. With a smile, he left them unbuttoned. 

“Oh, Crowley?” he called in a teasing, sing-song voice. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I think I need your help today.”

Crowley laughed as Aziraphale stepped around the screen, grinning innocently. “What?”

“And you call me wicked,” Crowley said fondly, his lips curled in a smile. He stepped over and reached for the lowest button of Aziraphale’s shirt - and bent to kiss his exposed chest. Aziraphale hitched a breath. Crowley followed the kiss by fastening the button, then kissing him again, a little higher. Aziraphale’s heart beat wildly in his chest and he felt himself growing hard in his trousers. Crowley just kept laying kisses and buttoning him, setting his soul ablaze, and Aziraphale loved him so much he feared he’d die of it. 

When Crowley got to the top button, he started pressing little kisses to Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale reached out to put his hands gently on Crowley’s hips. His breathing was ragged, and he wanted to pull Crowley closer, but didn’t. Not yet. He wanted to see what Crowley would do. 

Crowley finished the last button, then captured Aziraphale’s mouth in a kiss. Aziraphale kissed him back eagerly, finally giving in and pulling Crowley close so their bodies were flush. To his very great delight, he felt that Crowley was hard against him. He wondered how difficult it would be to talk his love into blowing off his duties for the rest of the day. 

“Crowley?” he asked when the kiss broke, a little dazed. 

“Yeah, angel?”

“How much time do we have?”

Crowley glanced over at the clock. “A little over an hour.”

“That’s plenty of time,” Aziraphale answered, sucking on his love’s neck. 

“Plenty of time for what?” Crowley asked, a smile in his voice, his hands flexing in Aziraphale’s hips. 

“To make love again.”

Crowley chuckled. “You want to go again?”

Aziraphale nodded, squeezing Crowley’s arse. “Yes. Please.”

“Maybe I could be convinced,” Crowley said wickedly. “But we still have to get you ready for the day.”

“But -”

“I think it’s time you let me shave you.”

Aziraphale let out a shuddery breath. “You want to shave me?”

Crowley’s amber eyes were smoldering. “I do. Very much. Will you let me?”

Aziraphale nodded, his mouth dry. “Yes.”

Crowley gave him a soft kiss. “Good. Now, sit down while I get you ready.”

He was loath to let go of his love, but did, going to the chair in front of his dressing table and pulling it out and towards Crowley. His love was still smiling, still tenting his trousers. Aziraphale’s mouth watered to taste that cock again, but he behaved himself. For the moment. 

Crowley was beating the brush in the bowl, creating foam, and Aziraphale watched him with wide eyes. Now he knew what those hands felt like - and he was about to feel them again. He swallowed hard. 

The valet still had a little smirk when he stopped beating the bar. “Are you ready, angel?”

Aziraphale nodded, wide-eyed. “I’m ready.”

He started smearing the foam all over Aziraphale’s face gently. Aziraphale’s eyes were glued to him, watching his face, and Crowley looked to be focused on his job - until he caught Aziraphale’s eye and winked. Aziraphale felt a thrill. How could it be that this beautiful creature loved _him_? What had he ever done to deserve such a blessing?

Finally, Crowley was done, and he turned back to the dressing table and put down the foam, picking up the glistening razor. Aziraphale couldn’t help his heart skipping a beat. 

“Just relax, angel. I’ve done this hundreds of times. I’m not going to hurt you. I love you.”

Aziraphale nodded, unable to speak because of the foam. Crowley grinned, then came back to stand between Aziraphale’s legs, much closer than he needed to. He started to shave Aziraphale’s neck slowly, with a steady hand. 

“I wondered if you were ever going to let me do this for you,” Crowley said as he worked, his voice low. “I’d hoped you would. But at the same time, I was terrified that you would ask me to shave you. I was afraid I’d give myself away and reveal how much I want you. Still, I wanted to be able to touch you without guilt - like I can now.”

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked down to see Crowley’s cock pressing against the font of his trousers, then back up to Crowley, who was grinning slyly. 

“I probably thought about it too much, considering how I got hard every time I dressed or undressed you. Did you ever notice?”

Aziraphale gave a little nod, and Crowley grinned brighter, rinsing the blade. “I might have known,” he said, starting on Aziraphale’s cheek. “I saw you get hard for me, too.”

He was achingly hard for Crowley _now_ \- it felt like he was throbbing. He didn’t miss the way Crowley's eyes darted down to it and his smirk grew. Aziraphale’s hands were curled into fists on his lap, fighting the urge to reach for him. He wanted to touch him so badly. 

Crowley turned around to rinse the blade again, then turned back to Aziraphale. Much to Aziraphale’s surprise, he moved Aziraphale’s legs together, then straddled him, sitting down on Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale whimpered when he did that, he couldn’t help it, and gave up the fight with his hands. He reached up to touch Crowley’s hips, flexing his fingers in the flesh there. 

“If you only knew the fantasies I’ve had about this very thing,” Crowley said, mouth still curved. “How many times I’ve daydreamed about doing exactly what I’m doing right now. I’ve taken myself in hand at least a dozen times, thinking about shaving you like this.” 

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s arse - it was all he could do, and he felt desperate to do _something_. He wanted to kiss him, but the foam on his mouth meant he couldn’t yet. 

“I’d think about doing this, sitting in your lap and feeling you hard, then I’d think about you kissing me until I lost my breath. You’d run your hands all over me, then you’d turn me around and prop me against the dressing table and fuck me.”

Aziraphale whimpered again and closed his eyes for a moment. 

Crowley leaned over and breathed in his ear. “Will you do that for me, angel? Will you make my fantasies come true?”

He nodded as vigorously as he was able without running the risk of a cut. 

Crowley nipped his earlobe, then pulled back and started shaving again with a smile. “Good. Then I’d better finish this quickly, shouldn't I?”

Aziraphale hoped his squeezing of Crowley’s bum was enough of a signal that yes, Crowley should very much hurry up. Christ. He was going to get to fuck that arse in just a minute. He couldn't _wait_.

When Crowley finished the last stroke, he reached to the dressing table, grabbed the towel, then wiped off Aziraphale’s face, still in his lap, while Aziraphale watched him with hungry eyes. Finally his face was clean and Crowley dropped the towel beside them. 

“How do I look?” Aziraphale asked, his voice a croak. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, angel,” Crowley said, reaching up to stroke a cheek. “So smooth and lovely. Would you like to see?”

Aziraphale shook his head and squeezed his arse again. “No.”

“What do you want to do?”

Instead of answering, he pulled Crowley down into a heated, urgent kiss. He didn’t waste any time before his tongue invaded his mouth, meeting Crowley’s, and they chased each other playfully. Crowley had reached up to cradle Aziraphale’s head, but Aziraphale still had his hands on Crowley’s arse, grinding himself against Crowley. Aziraphale loved the feel of his cock and it made him whimper a little. He whimpered again when Crowley sucked on his tongue. 

“I love you,” Crowley professed when they broke for air and Aziraphale started kissing his neck. “I love you so much, angel.”

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale managed, sucking a mark onto Crowley’s neck, uncaring who would see it. He _couldn’t_ care at the moment. He needed to taste his love. 

Aziraphale raised his head and they kissed again, hard and needy, and Aziraphale was afraid he’d come in his pants if he didn't make love to him soon. So he broke the kiss and looked up at Crowley with blazing eyes. 

“Tell me, love, in your fantasies, were you naked or still clothed?”

Crowley drew a shuddering breath, still grinding on Aziraphale’s lap. “I imagined it both ways, but most often that you’d just bare my arse and expose your cock and start to fuck me. I used to stick my fingers in my own arse, imagining they were your cock.”

“Do you want that now?”

Crowley nodded. “Please.”

Aziraphale kissed him again, more softly this time. “Stand up and turn around. Place your hands on the dressing table and present yourself to me. But leave your clothes on - for now.”

“O - okay.”

Crowley clambered off his lap and did as Aziraphale requested, turning around and bending a little, presenting his arse to Aziraphale. Aziraphale reached up and caressed him for a minute, then leaned over and kissed each side. “Yes, darling. Right there, just like that. I’ll be right back.”

Aziraphale got to his feet, hastening to the bed, and retrieved the oil. Crowley watched him from where he stood, and Aziraphale let his eyes smile at him. He placed the oil on the dressing table, beside Crowley’s hand, and took his place behind Crowley’s body, pressing his cock against his love’s bum, grinding it.

“Angel,” Crowley whined. 

Aziraphale reached around and started unbuttoning Crowley’s trousers while he nibbled on his ear and whispered delicious filth. Crowley panted and pressed back against Aziraphale’s cock. 

“That’s right,” Aziraphale purred. “So eager for me, so desperate for my cock. You want me so badly, don’t you?”

Crowley nodded, his breathing ragged. “I do. I want you. Please, angel.”

Aziraphale finished with the button of his trousers and let them fall to the floor. Then he pulled down Crowley’s smalls, so his arse was bare. “Please what, love?”

“Please, please. I need you.”

“What do you need? Tell me.”

“Anything you’ll give me.”

Aziraphale groaned and nipped his earlobe. “I’m so glad you said that. Remember when I said I’d like to bite your arse, and you said I could bite it tonight?”

“Y-yes?”

“Well, you see, I skipped breakfast and I’d like to eat _you_ now.”

Crowley made a low, whining noise, and Aziraphale grinned. “Are you opposed?”

He shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

“Very good. You just stand there like a good boy and let me enjoy my meal.”

Crowley nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

Aziraphale pressed one more kiss to his ear, then dropped to his knees behind Crowley, putting that arse in front of his face. Christ, it was so beautiful, so lovely, and Aziraphale massaged it for a second, watching the flesh move under his hands. 

“Angel, God, angel…”

Without a word, Aziraphale used his thumbs to spread Crowley’s cheeks and took a moment to gaze at the pink knot presented to him. His mouth watered to taste it, and he didn’t wait long before he dove in, tongue first. 

Crowley jumped and shouted. “Angel!”

Aziraphale didn’t answer, he just ate of him with gusto. Crowley tasted divine, musky but clean, and before long, he’d made a mess of his love, saliva dripping everywhere. Crowley was a symphony of sounds, pleas and promises and guttural sounds that weren’t anything close to language, but communicated his pleasure quite clearly. 

“Angel, angel… oh God. Yes! Feels so good. Your tongue is so hot… Yes! Ah! Ah!”

Aziraphale started to work on that little knot with his tongue, hoping to loosen him up, and was delighted when he was able to stick the tip of his tongue inside after a few minutes. Crowley howled when he did. 

“Fuck, angel. Fuck! I can’t… it’s too good. Please, I need you inside me.”

Aziraphale replaced his tongue with his finger, using the copious moisture, and buried it as far as it could go. Crowley sobbed above him, and Aziraphale fucked him gently on that finger. 

“Aziraphale, angel, please. Give me your cock. I need it. Please, I need you to fuck me.”

Slowly, carefully, Aziraphale added another finger, until he was fucking Crowley with both of them, still swirling his tongue around, sucking and lubricating them. Crowley was thrusting back against his hand, trying to take him deeper, and babbling. 

“Angel, angel, _please_... I want you to fuck me. I need your cock in me. Please!”

Aziraphale fucked him a little longer, making _sure_ he was ready, then removed his tongue from the fray. “Are you sure, darling?”

“Yes, yes, I’m so sure. Please.”

He pressed a kiss to each cheek of his bum, then stood up, fingers till buried in him. He couldn’t help but kiss and nip at Crowley’s neck for a moment as he continued to fuck him with his fingers, but his other hand was working on freeing his cock. 

“I’ll do anything, angel… just please fuck me.”

“Whatever you want, darling,” Aziraphale said, just as he got his cock out and rubbed it against Crowley’s arse. He removed his fingers slowly, then reached around him, grabbed the oil, and slicked his cock. The excess oil he smeared on Crowley’s fluttering hole. 

He slid his cock up and down the crease of Crowley’s bum. Crowley was pushing back needily, and Aziraphale didn’t waste time before he lined himself up with Crowley’s hole. 

“Yes, yes, please….”

Aziraphale started to press against his entrance, slowly and steadily, feeling the pressure build, until there was a slight pop and a tightness around the head of his cock. They both sighed, and Aziraphale started pressing kisses to Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Feel so good, angel.”

“Yes, you feel like heaven around me.”

“Please, give me more.”

Aziraphale pushed his hips forward obligingly, burying himself in Crowley’s arse, his hands on Crowley’s hips, until he could go no further, and he let out a shuddering breath. 

“I love you, I love you so much, please fuck me…”

“I love you too,” Aziraphale said, and withdrew slowly until only the head was inside, then back in, sliding in and out slightly faster and harder each time, using Crowley’s sounds as a guide. After a few moments, he was fucking Crowley at a steady pace, and could feel the early stirrings of orgasm. 

“Your arse feels so good, Crowley,” he growled in his love’s ear. “It’s so hot and tight. And it’s all mine, isn’t it?”

“Yes. All yours. Only yours. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Aziraphale said, slightly out of breath, his voice a little choppy. 

“Harder,” Crowley begged. “Faster. I need more, angel. I need you to _take_ me.”

Aziraphale groaned, then sped up and fucked him harder, his fingers making dents in his hips. He lay his head on Crowley’s shoulder, seeking another point of contact, and closed his eyes to focus on the feeling of his cock in Crowley’s arse. He’d never felt anything better in his life. 

“Can I - can I touch myself?” Crowley asked in halting speech. 

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. I’ll touch you,” he said, then pulled Crowley to standing and reached around to grab his bobbing cock. Crowley shouted when he did, and reached up to grab the arm around his chest with both hands, leaning his head back on Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“I’m close, angel. Shit! I’m so close. It feels so good. I’m not going to last.”

Aziraphale put his mouth beside Crowley’s ear and spoke in a low, commanding voice. “Come for me, Crowley. Give me your release. I want it.”

Crowley cried out when he came, spilling hot over Aziraphale’s hand, his arse clenching around Aziraphale’s cock. Aziraphale fucked him as best he could, milking him for every drop he could get, his teeth bared in a grimace, then surrendered to his own orgasm, erupting deep in Crowley’s arse, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound. He thrust weakly a couple of times, but couldn’t take the stimulation and stilled, panting heavily. 

They were still for a moment, both of them clinging to each other. Aziraphale had never felt so _good_ , so _whole_ as he did right then, and sent up a prayer of thanksgiving to God, as blasphemous as it may seem. He couldn't help it. He was so grateful to have found the one that completed him. 

Crowley craned his neck, still out of breath, seeking out Aziraphale, and their mouths met in a kiss of mutual worship. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale breathed when they parted. 

Crowley smiled, still out of breath. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on tumblr or twitter @caedmonfaith - come talk to me!


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